


Guitar Man

by StumpyTPDimples



Series: Country music made me do it [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Being his ridiculous self, Clint on the run, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I swear I know where it's going, In hiding in a bar, Mission Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2019-11-29 12:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18223418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StumpyTPDimples/pseuds/StumpyTPDimples
Summary: An 'accident' left SHIELD with no choice but to hide Clint Barton. He had to make a new life for himself. His old life was never too far away though, and he'd do anything to get it back. AU-ish





	1. Chapter 1

Coffee could surely be lived off, right? Maybe it has enough nutritional value, he hoped it did at least. The past couple of months it has basically been his breakfast with maybe a bit of toast if he could manage it.

Clint isn't dead just yet, so he'll keep going this way. The sun was just peeking through the curtains of the small apartment he was currently in, casting a soft glow across the room as he watched the world beneath the block pass by.

Even for just after 6am, Chicago was coming to life nicely. Cars and pedestrians passed by without another thought his way, yet he found himself wondering just where they were all going. Which taxi's held the important business men going to make the world a better place, and which held the cleaners that made the business man's world a better place? Had the taxi drivers been to sleep yet? It was early, and he was bone tired, he wondered if they felt the same way.

A stirring in the other room - the bedroom he had come out of in search of coffee ten minutes ago - had him looking that direction.

Annie? Angie? It was one of those names. It gets difficult to hear as the night goes on in bars. After his set she was over in an instant, begging for one more tune for her and her girlfriends to dance along to.

He got the request every night, and every night he politely declined. His ears would be ringing - aids complaining and begging to be taken out. He would have clean up and lock up to do, and really another song would just keep going on and on until he was shut down. So when he was done, he was done.

Didn't mean him saying no stopped her from getting a little handsy though. Didn't mean he didn't stop her getting that little handsy. Definitely didn't mean it stopped them climbing into a cab and finding their way into her room just over an hour ago.

It had been a while since he had any kind of attention like that. Humans have needs, and Annie-Angie could satisfy those for the night. But the girl was drunk. He couldn't and wouldn't do that. So he put her to bed, he made sure she didn't throw up, and caught a half hour of sleep himself.

He could never say no to red heads, but when that red head was drunk then that was a different story.

She didn't surface though. Still fast asleep, how he left her.

Clint downed the last of the coffee and lit up a cigarette as he made his way back into the bedroom. The taste of the whiskey the women bought him was still fresh in his mouth. He never usually drank, but it's rude to refuse.

He didn't find it rude to leave though. He needed to get out of here.

Though Clint doubted she'd remember, Annie-Angie did make him make some promises he knew he'd never be able to keep. Promises of staying until she woke, of going for breakfast, of spending the day with her and maybe making this a regular thing. Promises of playing for her, of staying with her, of being more than just a nameless spotlight mike stand in the corner of a bar every weekend.

He'd never be able for that. So he dressed. He found his shirt and jeans that were thrown across the room, slipped into his shoes, got his hoodie as he passed through the small living space, and vanished from this woman's life with one last drag of his cigarette.

It wasn't glamorous, wasn't the life he would have chosen he was sure, but it was his life.

His life now, anyway.

Any attempt at a hit on an Avengers life as careless and blatant as the ones on Clint's had to be taken seriously. It had to look successful, had to look like whoever it was that undertook the hit completed it. There was an explosion, there was a body found burned beyond recognition. Dental records showed it was one Clinton Francis Barton. There was a funeral, there was mourning, then there was nothing. The world went on spinning and Clint went on with his new life with some added scars and some added loneliness.

They set him up nicely, as SHIELD would. Clint had to be out of the way, but when he refused out right to leave America they settled on Chicago. They gave him a bar to run, they gave him the apartment above the bar, they gave him a substantial cheque each month for living (doesn't include buying shots for everyone or buying pizza each evening, Barton!), then told him not to contact unless there's an emergency.

He didn't know what constituted an emergency. To Clint missing his friends was an emergency, feeling so lonely that it crushed his soul was an emergency, watching on the tv to see what the lives of the people closest to him were like instead of being able to speak to them was an emergency.

Seeing her face and knowing for the foreseeable future he wouldn't be able to see it in person was an emergency.

But he couldn't contact, and it killed him.

A block from his apartment his stomach rumbled. The cool winter air drifted by his hunched figure, the scent from a bakery hitting his nose and going straight to his stomach. It shocked Clint from his thoughts before they went deeper.

He reached in his jeans and pulled out the little pile. Last night was a good night, some crumpled up ones and even some tens in between. Weekends were always good for him. Drunk people tipped happy, and the days he does a music set are the best. He sometimes felt like a stripper the way money would just appear by him.

Means he might be able to have one of those pastries he's smelling without breaking his budget for the week.

It wasn't glamorous, wasn't the life he would have chosen. It wasn't the life he had chosen. The hurt that filled him when he thought of that life was like nothing he's ever felt before.

So he put it behind him for now, put the money back in his pocket, put a smile on his face for the people who have to work this early in the morning, and went to get something nice for breakfast.

Clint put his old life behind him once more to get through another day in his new life.


	2. Chapter 2

The place was still empty when he walked in the door. Though he didn't expect much else for this hour of the day, even if it was Saturday.

After his bit of breakfast Clint had gone straight to bed. Last night was a long one, and his body was begging for some proper rest and not just another coffee to keep it going. Around 9am he crashed. Now 1pm he was showered and fresh and ready for the day.

The usual's were there already. Old men looking to drown their sorrows for a while sitting along the length of the bar, a few tourists seeking shelter from the chill by the open fire as they planned their goings with a cup of coffee each, and a group of young men at the tables around the screen in the corner watching a football game.

It wasn't big, wasn't as busy as some of the other bars, but at least it was doing business.

Most importantly there was sweet Ellen behind the bar who he shot a grin to as he approached. She was a college student looking to keep her head above short brunette was as innocent looking as they come with her braids and the skirts she always wore, but he could see a fire behind her eyes that made him think that she'd be perfectly fine here. It was just the pair of them, usually. Clint would work the week days so she could study and Ellen would work the weekend days to let Clint have a rest. If they needed help though anyone and everyone that the young lady knew would be drafted in. How he wished he had the kind of youthful spirit that let them drop everything to come work in a bar.

Though they both had their shift days, they usually ended up here every night. He didn't mind Ellen staying around to study at the bar away from her crazy family, and honestly Clint literally lives here.

"Good night last night, boss?" Ellen asked with a smile and a wink as he slid onto a bar stool in front of her. He had to grin as he took a rag and glass she pushed his way. "I think, if she could have, that red head would've been on her knees for ya in the middle of the bar."

"You're way too young for the details." He replied with a shrug. Her laugh made him look up from the glass he was polishing.

"Tucked her in and fell asleep?"

"Tucked her in and fell asleep." He nodded with a laugh of his own.

"It was a good set last night though." Ellen hummed, taking the glass from him to pull a pint for a gentleman to Clint's left. Felix, he vaguely remembers the older man muttering one day when Clint asked. "I think I was even about to throw some panties at you."

"Oh please don't." Clint shuddered, laughing a little when it earned him a punch from the woman. He took another glass and began polishing. "They wanted a lot of love songs last night, no wonder all the women were going crazy. Anything sappy sends them to mush."

"It helps when you sing them so passionately." Ellen shrugged, and she moved off to take one of the young man's order before she could notice the frown spread across Clint's face.

Love songs were always full of cliche's. He tried avoid them like the plague, because sometimes they were too true. Sometimes his heart would ache at some pictures love songs painted. Sometimes his mind would go to memories and moments that he knew he couldn't live ever again. Sometimes a lyric would hit him and he'd be transported to a small room in New York, curled up with a red head as the rain pelted their window. Sometimes a chord would trap him in a moment of a Sunday breakfast with the closest people in the world to him - laughter spreading out. More often than not a love song would break his heart, and when that's where you sing from, the audience reacts. People love the idea of love.

_Love is for children..._

"Clint?"

Barton shook his head of all the thoughts swimming there and looked up to see Ellen frowning his way. His hand had stalled in his polishing, and it was only then that he saw a cup of coffee in front of him. How long was he zoned?

"Anything I should be worried about?" She continued softly, and he smiled her way to let her know it wasn't.

"Sorry, ears playing up. Didn't hear you."

"War's hell, kid." Felix grumbled beside him, downing his drink just as Ellen put another in front of him. "Never gots'ta apologise."

Ah yes. That's why this guy kept coming back here. He was a sergeant once upon a time and took a shining to Clint when he heard he served too.

Even this fake Clint needed a back story, something to explain his scars and injuries. Something to explain to Ellen why he disappeared into his mind every now and then for a while. Army seemed the most plausible.

"How'd you know I wasn't deaf before that?" Clint asked with the smallest of smirks. He turned his stool to face Felix.

The older gentleman shrugged and sipped his drink. He was sometimes impossible to speak to but Clint still always tried. He wasn't sure that the man had anyone else in his life.

"Suppose I wouldn't be much of a soldier if I couldn't hear, huh Sarge?"

"I was a soldier with selective hearin', if that counts." Felix grinned a little, casting a sideways glance towards Clint. Clint grinned to tell him to continue. "Our Officer swore he told us to get inta'that bunker and dismantle d'bomb that blew that pit sky high a second later. But we all heard run like hell and save yer asses."

The glint in Felix's eyes had a genuine smile spreading across Clint's face as he turned back to his coffee. The older mans eyes held a spark of his younger self for a moment and Clint loved seeing it. He made a mental note to get the Sarge to talk a little more about his old war days if this is the feeling it brings.

"I had a captain like that." Clint continued the conversation without thinking. Vaguely he noticed Ellen lean a little closer to listen. "Fantastic at tactics - could get someone out of a lion den while dressed as an antelope without a scratch. But our fun was blatantly ignoring his orders to try get a reaction. If he cursed you automatically won the mission."

The record belonged to - surprisingly - Barnes & Romanoff who got the words 'If you little shits don't grow the fuck up I'll shove those pretty little rifles up your asses!' from Saint Rogers.

"Mission?" The simple question had him looking up from his reminising - his confused gaze meeting a genuinely interested Ellen. "Were you something like special ops?"

Something like that.

Clint frowned at her for the longest moment, not knowing how to answer.

So, instead, he looked back down at his coffee cup.

Something like special ops.

Carnie, criminal, agent, Strike Team, Avenger. Dead Avenger.

They're something like special ops, right?

"Clint?"

The group of lads in the corner cheered loudly, drawing everyone's attention their way. The six of them had jumped up and were hugging each other - the replay of a touchdown on the screen above them. It brought a smile to Clint's face and he turned back to Ellen a moment later.

"A round on the house for everyone." He said before downing his coffee and getting off his stool, holding a hand up to stop Ellen's protests - or whatever words were about to follow his name. "Just this once, and just what everyone has already ordered. Come on, they just brought the mood up."

"You're too kind, Boss man." Ellen sighed, but set about filling all the orders anyway.

Clint smiled to himself and made his way behind the bar, silently helping her out.

It was a start to a good day. The bar slowly started filling up, and by 4 o'clock all the seats were taken and there was a bachelorette party trying it's best to get everyone to join along in their games. Even the tourists who were by the fire eventually ordered some drinks and didn't look like they were about to leave. Clint said nothing about them ordering pizza to the bar, it's his fault for not having a kitchen to serve food.

7pm the jukebox was constantly going, and the dance floor lights he set up were turned on to keep the crowd happy. 9pm and the place was crazy, though in the best possible way. Moving through the crowd was difficult, and seeing anyone through it was even worse. He was jumping from one order to another at a record pace and there was no way to keep up at some points.

Ellen called in her boyfriend - college football player who towered over even Clint - to help out. Mark. He's helped out before, and Clint trusted him. Besides, if he could help give the kid a bit of extra money then it was all worth it.

"You need some help back down with these, sweetheart?" Clint asked over the noise of the bar and jukebox to one of the women on the bachelorette. Her very bright sash and the fact that he was currently filling up 15 shot glasses with tequila gave her identity away in an instant.

"I was just gonna do them here!" She yelled back with a giggle, and he smiled politely at her attempt of a joke. Ellen arrived at his side with the lemon slices and placed them on the tray before turning to grab another order. But Clint stuck his foot out to give her leg a little kick.

"Help this young lady will you?" He asked with a grin as he set the tequila bottle down, ignoring Ellen's glare. "Please? Don't want accidents."

His code for "This person is way too drunk good lord help them so they don't fall and sue me.". So she smiled and nodded, taking the tray as Clint took the money. Bachelorette party lady disappeared into the crowd yelling "TEQUILA BITCHES!". Clint grinned to himself wondering just how many of those ladies he'd find under the tables 'asleep' later.

He threw the tip into the jar and shimmied by Mark to pull a pint for a man in a suit who looked pissed off about having to wait so long. Seemed like the kind who was dragged out after work and was looking for any reason to complain. Clint wouldn't take it personally.

"Guitar man!" He looked over from the tap to the end of the bar at the shout, a group of three young women he considered regulars standing there with grins. "Playing for us tonight!?"

"Sorry ladies, too busy." He shouted back as he passed the pint over to pissed off man, passing Ellen the money to put in the till as she returned with the tray so he could go talk to the women at the end of the bar. "Unless y'all wanna pull pints for me so I can?"

"Can we!?" White wine piped up - the one in the belly top that he swore was just a belt covering her breasts. Not that he was looking. "I think that would be fun!"

"He's being sarcastic." The one who shouted over to him said with a pout. Blonde, mojito. That's all he knew of her. "You wouldn't trust us Guitar man, would you?"

"Not the way you ladies drink. And I told you before, it's Clint!" He laughed, turning to get their usual order. He was mid-mojito blending before he realised the usually chatty whiskey sour lady didn't utter a word. He paused and looked over to see her definitely with the pair, they were all a little closer to one another and whiskey sour lady was frowning, looking down, and he's seen that look enough times here to know exactly what it was.

The brunette was dumped. Recently, he would assume. She usually made an effort when here - always in some kind of evening wear with her hair in loose curls. She always took pride - both in how she dressed and how she held herself. But tonight she had a slump to her frame, a hoodie covering her upper half and he couldn't see but he bet there were some simple jeans on her lower half. He never saw her hair up before, and as he brought the three drinks over he noticed a small tattoo on the side of her neck.

He never liked seeing anyone so down, especially not a lady who would usually be one of the highlights of his night.

"You alright here for a while?" He turned his head to ask Ellen as he put their money in the till, though she was cleaning down the counter as Mark served some drinks so maybe there was a lull in orders about to come. She smiled his way and nodded, she didn't have to ask why.

"So ladies..." He started when he brought them back their change, though he was smiling at whiskey sour lady as she stared down at her drink. He leaned on the bar to see if the woman would be any way interested in his offer. "If I were to play, what would you like to hear?"

"Really!?" White wine squealed, clapping her hands like a giddy teenager. "You'd, like, make our night if you did!"

"You really would!" Mojito agreed with a grin, nudging whiskey sour on her right. "Wouldn't he, Samantha?"

Whiskey sour - Samantha - looked up to him and shot him the smallest of smiles when she noticed him staring. He just gave her a wink and a smile.

"Something soft and sweet, you do those brilliantly!"

"No no, that'd be too boring for a Saturday night! We need something to dance to!"

"You can dance to love songs!"

Clint ignored the bickering women and watched the subtle changes in whiskey sour's face. Watching, analysing, deciding on the best course of action depending on every little twitch.

_"Crinkle of the nose is a no-go, Barton. It's like you don't even know how to take someone to bed!"_

_"If I were interested in men, trust me, this would be a different story Romanoff!"_

_"Oh adorable, you think it wouldn't be more of a disaster if it was a woman running away screaming at your face."_

_"You'll take that back when you're screaming my name later, Widow.."_

"I hate love songs, I really do." He said before walking around the bar, shaking his mind clear of the life he once had. He had to squeeze past Samantha to get out, and took the opportunity to whisper in her ear. "It's his loss, not yours."

All of this really was his loss, not hers. She could have anyone. It was proven rimes and time again. Clint was the one in trouble, not Natasha.

He squeezed through the crowd and made his way to the little stage in the corner, the guitar leaning against the wall from the night before. Clint's fingers ran gently along the strings and let the smile take hold of him as the strings gently cut into his tips.

Showtime.

He checked the tuning, he turned on the mic, turned off the jukebox and played.

He played everything other than love songs, because he really did hate them, and they weren't what that young lady needed right now.

He played songs from Livin' On A Prayer to Country Roads to some Bat Out Of Hell to get people dancing, to make them happy, to make himself happy.

He loved the jukebox, he really did. Requests being shouted his way in the moments was an entirely different story. It was interactive, it was fun, it was entertaining, and most importantly - as he watched Samantha dance around in front of the little stage to his attempt at Single Ladies - it was sometimes needed. Because they could fill that jukebox with a weeks worth of pay, but it can't feel their happy, and it can't feel their pain.

And it can't feel his happy, and it definitely can't feel his pain.


	3. Chapter 3

A. B. D minor. F. B. A.

Repeat.

It was a simple tune, one that constantly had his fingers sliding the strings rather than sitting in one spot.

Perfect to make the strings cut into his fingers. Whenever they did a tingle would shoot right up his arm and spread out into a smile on his face. The years have given his fingers calluses on top of calluses, so feeling was sometimes minimal in his tips. But when he struck a string just right a buzz would shoot through his system that he thought was long lost.

He wished so desperately that it was a bow. Clint's heart would ache for it sometimes. The feel as the grip sat against his palm, the ache and tightness in his muscles as he drew the string back with the arrow nocked and ready to go, the satisfaction that ran through his veins as the tip perfectly embedded itself into his target. All of it was becoming strange to him and that hurt. A newcomer in a town could hardly arrive at a range and shoot like he would - even on his worse day - without raising suspicion.

So he wasn't allowed a bow while stuck here.

The guitar would have to do to give him the feeling of a tense string slicing just right.

The soft melody he was playing filled the quiet bar, spreading out to all corners and bouncing off the walls back to his ears in an almost sensual round. A lullaby, he thinks. A lullaby, or it was called lullaby. Regardless of what it was - whenever he was tired enough to not want to think it would come out. The tune was buried somewhere deep in his mind that his fingers automatically and absentmindedly played.

The final customer went merrily on their way little over an hour ago, finally allowing them to close up after a thankfully busy day. Bar scrubbed, glasses shined, and floor mopped, Clint now sat with Ellen and Mark next to him at the table in front of the screen on the wall. The guitar and the soft murmurings of whatever MTV show the young couple were watching were the only sounds filling the space. He could always tell it was getting deep into the night when the sign language interpreter would appear on the bottom corner of tv shows.

He watched her hands flurry with the yelling going on between two young women on the show through half lidded eyes. He could hear his bed whisper his name from upstairs.

"You staying here tonight, El?" He asked when the realisation of time struck him. Getting a taxi might be difficult, and honestly the second bedroom upstairs in his apartment had basically becomes hers over the past few months anyway.

He glanced her way when she hummed in thought, feet up on Mark's lap as her boyfriend gave them a massage. A drink she poured herself rest carefully against her lips and her eyes were nearly as closed as Clint's were just a moment ago. The sight of his employee in such a relaxed state had a bark of a laugh leaving Clint's mouth before he knew it, causing the pair to look his way.

"Doesn't look like you two are moving any time soon."

"If you don't mind, boss man." Ellen smiled his way. That sweet and innocent smile he's seen before that screamed she'd decided on this course of action a long time ago but would act like she just thought of it now.

_'It's just a bow, Clint.'_

_'But it's my bow, why can't you use yours?'_

_'Oh come on, pleeeeeease!?'_

The smile got him to concede every time. This time was no different, so he nodded with a smile and turned back to stare at the screen.

That thought had his fingers stall in their playing and had a small frown settle on his lips. None of that sounded right.

That wasn't Ellen who asked for his bow. A different little dark haired shit who wormed her way into his life, definitely. But not Ellen.

_You're losing it Barton..._

He wanted so desperately to keep his old memories intact, but now he's slipping. They're starting to mould together with new and he has no idea how to stop it. He didn't want the two to exist together. This was just another mission. A long term undercover mission that shouldn't be taken so lightly.

"Forget the rest of the tune in your old age, Boss Man?" Mark's voice clicked his mind back into gear.

Shouldn't have gotten comfortable here. It's just a mission. It's only temporary.

"Clint?"

It's only temporary.

"Hey." Mark's word was followed by a napkin hitting the side of Clint's face.

Another shake of his head and a smirk then plastered itself on his face. He glanced the pair's way. Ellen had moved her legs from Mark's lap and instead had them on the table. She was watching the tv but Mark was looking at Clint while sipping from his pint. Trust a football player to resort to throwing stuff!

"Stop getting people to call me that."

"What, 'Boss Man'?" Clint nodded to Ellen's question - her tone just as bored sounding as her eyes looked - as he stood to return the guitar to his dark corner. "That's who you are."

Clint turned in time to see Ellen hand Mark her glass. She looked his way with a grin then. "Clint it such an old person name."

"Thanks?" He laughed. Mark went behind the bar to refill the glass he was handed while Clint cleared the last bits of rubbish. He didn't mind showing off his aim here, so napkins and coasters were thrown into the bin against the wall with no effort. "Y'know, if I spoke to my elders like that when I was younger I'd-"

"Your tinker toys would be taken from ya and no radio listening for a week?"

"Mark!" Ellen squealed, turning in her chair to glare at her boyfriend. For a moment Clint actually thought that she was going to defend him.

A very short tiny moment.

"Don't insult radio's age like that!"

"You're both hilarious." Clint deadpanned. "At least I'm not whipped like someone in here. Rather be old than a personal foot rub machine."

Marks head shot up from drink mixing to look between the pair. Clint crossed the room to throw the last of the rubbish out then started for the stairs that lead to his apartment.

"I'm not whipped.." Mark spoke up finally, though the tone was unsure, almost a question. Clint laughed and shook his head, Ellen's softly spoken "Just a little" hitting his ears a moment later. Even big men like Mark could be controlled by a well played woman. Honestly isn't the first time he's seen it, definitely won't be the last. First time for the kid though!

"Goodnight kids. As always, thanks for the help." He called behind him, not waiting for an answer before climbing the stairs.

It was only temporary.

A sigh escaped his lips when he made it up the stairs, his hand running down his face to clear a bit of tiredness. Bed called. The stairs from the bar led up to his apartments living area. If you call an old sofa facing a tv in the corner of the room a living area, that is. Just behind the sofa sat the kitchen which held a small prep area and a smaller wooden table, though thankfully the two bedrooms on either side were a decent size because he spent most of his time there anyway.

It was only temporary.

Clint kicked off his shoes on his way to his bedroom and stripped, flopping down on the bed without looking for any kind of pyjamas because tomorrow was only a couple of hours away, no point changing to do it all again soon anyway.

He would be gone back to his life soon.

It was only temporary.

For now, a good nights rest, and another day of this Clint's life would be over.

* * *

_"I think I'm in the mood for some Chinese food."_

_"Should try a salad every once in a while, Barton."_

_"Awh Nat come on, I had some salad on Sunday!"_

_"Lettuce on a burger doesn't count.."_

_"Maybe.." He grumbled. Natasha glanced at him with a smile and moved closer, so Clint put his arm around her shoulders and held her to his side as they walked down the street._

_The summer sun was just setting over New York, casting beautiful shadows between the buildings as Clint walked Natasha home from their latest team bonding. It wasn't too often they got to dress up fancy, and this benefit do they just left was the perfect excuse for Clint to get to wear a dickie bow. Seeing Natasha in that sleeveless blue evening gown was a huge positive to these events too. The universe was calm and quiet for now, it made being an Avenger the easiest job in the world. It would change, it always did, but right now he was happy to continue with this way of life._

_"That was a big spread back there though. No way I can eat anything else." Natasha went on. "Tomorrow we'll go get some. Besides you're up early for that mission de-brief so you should sleep."_

_"Why Fury wakes up so early I'll never know." Clint sighed, stopping at the entrance to Natasha's apartment like some teenagers ending their first date._

_"I think it's Maria more than Nick." Natasha hummed. "She goes for her run at 4 so she probably is ready by 5am."_

_"And apparently I have to be ready too."_

_"Well it was your newbie who fucked up. How many early mornings do you think we caused Coulson to have?"_

_Touche._

_"God he probably hated us." Clint laughed, giving Natasha's hand a little squeeze when she moved away. "I see you afterwards?"_

_"Possibly. Bring me over some doughnuts from the store around the corner from your place and I might think of letting you in." She smiled, moving close once more to give him a quick peck on the lips. She began walking up her steps then. "Much love, Hawk."_

_"Many returns, Widow." He grinned, his hands finding their place in his trouser pockets before he turned to walk away._

_But he couldn't. The electric signals from his brain to his feet were being interrupted by a giant pit in his stomach. Every single night he got to this point but he just couldn't leave. Because he knows what happens if he does._

_He knows that if he does then that's it, that's the last chance they have at anything that could be between them. He knows that the second he walks into his apartment everything in his life will turn to hell and he can't handle that._

_"What if I stay?" He yelled back at her, eyes shut to try ward off the feeling that was taking over him. "What if I stay here instead and wake up a little earlier? What if I just tell Fury to fuck off and I'll meet him whenever I wake up? What if we just go back to that benefit and stay at the tower like Stark wanted?"_

_"You know you can't, Clint. That's not how it played out." Natasha's voice was close again, soft, and he opened his eyes to see her in front of him. Though they were no longer on the street in front of her building. They were in his building, climbing the flight stairs one at a time. He couldn't feel his feet touch the steps, he was mentally screaming at them to stop. "You left, you came here."_

_Stop. Stop stop. Please. More time. I need more time. I can't leave. For the love of everything just stop!_

_"I did." He nodded, his mouth going dry as his body continued the climb to the studio apartment. He was watching Natasha's back, the way her arms swung as she climbed, so graceful and confident in those heels on those old stairs._

_"And I text you around now-" sure enough his phone binged and he glanced at his pocket where it was held. "Asking if you could bring by some washing powder in the morning."_

_"You did." He sighed, nodding again. He didn't want this to happen, he wanted to run back to Natasha, to hold her close, to tell her over and over again that he loves her and that nothing will ever take him from her. He wanted to go to the tower with her, drink with his friends, thank them for the years of happiness and joy they've given. He wanted them to tease him for being so sappy and emotional, he wanted to play drinking games, wanted to have a fight with Tony about what goes on their pizza, wanted to spend the night waiting to watch the sunrise on top of the building with all of his family surrounding him._

_But he started up the last flight of stairs. Those hands that spent his entire life accurately listening to him refused this time and started to reach for his keys._

_"You didn't message me back." Natasha was behind him now - the small hallway feeling a lot smaller. All he could do was stare at the door in front of him. That familiar dirty brown colour that he said every single month he'd paint. How he hated it. It creaked and stuck, it had a hole in the the front that thankfully didn't go all the way through but left a weak point. It wasn't fancy or even good. He hated it, but now he missed seeing it more than anything. The lock would stick, and he had to fiddle with it. He froze before he could complete opening the door._

_"I was gonna check if I had some first." He whispered, eyes downcast now. Please body, just turn and take her in your arms. Please. "So I wouldn't have to go to the store."_

_"You never got that far though." Natasha sounded sad now. Once more he nodded._

_"I should have stayed."_

_"You should have stayed. But you didn't."_

_"I should have said I love you, instead of making that stupid joke of ours."_

_"You should have. But you didn't."_

_"Are you happy?" Clint asked, his body finally listening enough to turn to Natasha. She was gone though, the cream wall opposite the only thing meeting him._

_He sighed, resigned. Finally he pushed the door to his apartment open and let the explosion knock him to a world of black._

Clint sat bolt upright in his bed with slight yell when the explosion hit. He clutched at his bare chest, trying to get the flames off of him, to stop the flesh burning, stop the red hot searing pain that lingered even to this day, but was only met with the feel of scar tissue covered in a cold sweat.

Confused, he glanced around the room. Slightly off coloured walls, a dresser opposite his double bed - with just enough space for him to pass by if needed. The window had some green curtains pulled tightly, not thick enough to keep all the light out but they worked well enough.

Chicago finally flashed across his mind, and he fell back down with a growl when he realised it was just a dream again.

He hated himself for it. He should have just stayed with Natasha that night, then this wouldn't be happening. His life would be fine, his life wouldn't be here.

His eyes closed for just a moment to try find sleep again, a deep breath to calm himself, before a scent snapped them back open. He didn't recognise it, but at the same time it tugged a memory in his mind. A grumble from his stomach let him think someone on the street was cooking up something tasty, and he should probably get up to do the same.

With a sigh, and a realisation that any other attempt at sleeping was lost to him, Clint sat, slipped in his hearing aids, and got up to face the day. Just after pulling on some pyjama bottoms a sound hit his drums that had him stall.

He strained his ears as best he could and made a mental note of where the nearest weapon was. Silently he went and grabbed the hand gun from the bottom drawer of his dresser. If they had finally found him then he'd need a lot more, but he was a civilian now, so this was his best and only option. Two voices, male and female, that's what he gathered with his ear pressed against the door. No idea what they were saying - they weren't speaking loud enough for that but the tones gave it away. No other sounds, no looting, no arguing. They were lying in wait for Clint to come out, like the bomb was lying in wait. They were here to finish the job.

All this time whoever took the attempt on his life knew it was unsuccessful and were hunting him. Clint was sloppy and they finally caught up to him. In order to get the jump on him all those months ago, and to make it into his apartment now with no warning, whoever he was dealing with must be highly skilled. He'd be in trouble here if they got the drop on him.

If they were that skilled, however, they should know better than speaking loud enough for him to catch. As he carefully and silently opened the door to take a peek out to his small living area he realised the only reason for that mess up would be a trap. They were baiting him in to get the job done quick.

The crack he had made in the door was just enough to see to the right of his room - toward the kitchen area. There was no movement that direction. He didn't expect there to be though. Any one who scouted the apartment for even a moment would know that his door opened up to give a view to that side first, so who in their right mind would plan an ambush from that side? The living room area to the left would be the best point. More of a cover with the sofa there too, he'd bet anything on them lying in wait there.

The more he'd open the door, though, the more chance at being caught there was. He was too rusty and too under equipped to be playing these kinds of games.

Clint at his rustiest is still miles ahead of any amateur assassins at their sharpest though.

Painfully slowly he opened the door enough to slip out. He took one last breath to steady himself for the battle about to come and entered the living area gun raised.

The words of warning that were about to drop from his lips got stuck in his throat when he was met by no one.

Well, correction, not no one.

He was expecting weapons pointed his way - shouts and demands for surrender cutting through the silence of the neighbourhood. He was expecting another explosion, a bullet to the head, something that would put an end to this fantasy life he was living in to find somewhere else, or just end his life in general.

But no, none of those came.

Instead, on the sofa which had it's back to him, he saw two heads huddled close together. One brunette with a high pony, one cropped blond hair that had bits of the top sticking up in odd angles. The owners of the heads were facing the tv which was playing one of those morning time gossip shows, volume down to a low murmur.

Brows drawn together, finger hovering on the trigger, Clint tried to think what kind of bullshit agency sent these kinds of assassins.

A waft of breeze hit him and it carried that scent that flared his mind to life a little earlier. He turned his head enough for his peripheral to take stock of the kitchen. The window was open which explained the breeze, and on the small wooden table was a plate with a stack of something on it.

Bacon.

The memories in his mind finally settled into place and Clint felt himself deflating. Yes, he was indeed in Chicago. He knew that much in the bedroom as well.

His weapon - now being stashed in the waistband of his pj bottoms - wasn't pointed at any kind of enemy. The two kids had staying over last night had completely slipped his mind.

They were sitting quietly, enjoying each others company, completely oblivious to the fact that Hawkeye was a fraction of a second away from splattering their brains all over his living room.

_Hawkeye._

_No, Clint Barton. You're no longer Hawkeye._

He closed his eyes for a moment and massaged between them with his thumb and index fingers, already feeling a headache building and he hadn't even started the day yet.

With a small sigh he turned and made for the coffee pot on the counter. He snagged a piece of bacon as he was passing and took a bite.

"Tastes good." He called over to the pair, smirking to the coffee machine that was beginning to gurgle to life when he heard Ellen let out a curse.

"Fuck sake boss, announce yourself next time!"

"Literally just did that!" He laughed, turning with his hands up to show no threat. The pair had turned their heads to look over the sofa his way.

Ellen scowled and turned back to the tv. "Ninja man, I swear."

Clint's smirk widened a little. She had no idea.

"Coffee?" He asked then.

"Jumpy hole will, I have to run off." Mark smiled and nodded, smoothing a hand over Ellen's hair before standing to join Clint.

"Hope y'don't mind we ate without ya. You were dead to the world." The younger man said as he pulled down two mugs from the cupboard, Clint filling each as they touched base with the counter.

"No bother." Clint shrugged. He put the coffee pot on the hotplate before passing Mark the sugar pot that sat beside it. "Taste's just as good cold. Bacon is just one of those things."

"Can't live off it though." Mark shrugged. Clint cast a curious eye his way, so he continued as he passed Clint for the fridge. "You only had bacon and bread in this place."

"Golly gosh, didn't know ground up bacon tastes like coffee." Clint made an impressed face and leaned against the counter to take a sip from his coffee.

"You know what I mean, asshole." The younger man laughed, opening the fridge as if to prove a point to Clint but he took the milk out anyway to top off Ellen's coffee.

Clint just waved Mark off. He grabbed Ellen's cup and went with both their coffee's to join the young lady on the sofa. Her cup was taken with a smile.

"Don't like it, don't stay." Clint shrugged, flopping down beside Ellen. He could feel her gaze on him as he watched the tv but offered nothing more than the sight of him taking a strong gulp from his mug.

If - when - he got called back to New York, when the all clear is given, he didn't want to have a whole load of stuff he'd have to either pack or throw away. So he kept the basics. Enough to fill any peckish cravings he might have at night food wise, enough material to keep him entertained, but nothing more. If he needed a meal he could order one in, there were enough places for that.

"Something crawled up his ass and died." He caught Mark whisper as he leaned down to Ellen. Clint just scoffed, let Mark give his girlfriend a quick kiss, and leave with a comment along the lines of "Off to my proper job!".

Clint was too lost to care this morning.

He was just moments away a short time ago from putting bullets in each of these peoples heads, and now their talking like old buddies.

He didn't know them well enough to catch their presence sooner. That had him on edge, wary, and he didn't like it.

Tony always had a hyper energy surrounding his being that would spread into whatever room was opposite where he was. You could follow the soft tapping of pens in a quick and uniform fashion and find him at the end of the trail.  
Steve was trickier to notice but he never really sat still for too long unless he had to. There'd be scribbling sounds as he doodled, humming of show tunes, or a soft shuffling sound as he patrolled whatever room he was in.  
Thor never shut up, but in the best possible way. You would always know where he was as he story-told to whoever was around him, other times he would just mutter to himself as he went about a task.  
Bruce had a nervous energy, a careful aura. He was quiet but there were always signs of his whereabouts. He'd make sure there was, Clint always thought, though he never got to test if that was the case or if it was just subconsciously done by the doctor.  
Natasha...

"Clint, what's with you today?"

His head snapped to the side at the annoyed words, and he frowned in confusion at the stare he was receiving from Ellen. The mug that held hot coffee moments ago was nearly cold in his grasp and he had to wonder just how long he was daydreaming for.

"Wha..?"  _Smooth Barton._

But his face must have shown the kind of hopelessness he was feeling this morning. Ellen's eyes softened and a sigh escaped her lips.

Clint was used to unreadable enemies. His senses would have to be dialled up to 11 to make sure he missed nothing in their mannerisms when judging a foe. Being able to decipher someones emotions as easily as he was lately was dulling his senses entirely. Today, it seemed, he just couldn't place Ellen even after this long of knowing her.

If he didn't get back to his real life soon he feared he'd lose his skills entirely.

"Your head on today?" She asked - softer, kinder. Polar opposite of her tone seconds ago.

Was he starting to become easy to read now? He was never going to last in the field again if that was the case.

_'Missions are like riding a bike, Nat. You'll be fine when you get out there again.'_

"I don't know." He finally admitted in a whisper. That nightmare had his mind thrown out of whack. Memories were shooting up left right and centre, ones that he had hidden all this time so as not to miss his life entirely. No hope today it would seem. He wasn't sure if he should take that and the uneasy feeling as a bad omen or not. "Wrong side of the bed kind of day, I think."

"Probably need some vitamins. Your body might be lacking something." Ellen hummed. Clint groaned and threw his head way too dramatically against the sofa in response. He needed something alright but it sure as hell wasn't vitamins.

"I'm serious!" Good lord her voice just got about ten times squeakier than usual. "Get something other than those bottoms on and we'll go shopping."

"Hard pass." Clint mumbled, finding his mouth with his coffee cup even with his head back. Cold or not, coffee is still coffee.

"C'mon boss!" Ellen sighed, smacking his arm hard enough to send his drink all down his front. He pouted her way - being met with an amused smirk pulling on her lips.

"I have to open up." He said as he wiped the coffee off his chest. He'd ignore how Ellen's eyes lingered a little too long on the scars there.

"It's Sunday, Clint. It's usually only Felix and Brian looking to escape for drinks. They'll survive without you!"

"Someone doesn't wanna study." He accused in a sing-song tone, standing to bring his cup to the sink. All of the breakfast stuff was cleared away, the kitchen cleaned, and dishes drying on the side rack. He was really out of it if he missed Ellen doing all of that.

"Winter break means no need to study."

"I know people who would differ." He hummed, placing his mug on the rack with the others to dry. He leaned against the counter drying his hands as he looked to Ellen, who was on her knees on the sofa to look over the top of it his way.

"Like who?"

"Parents, lecturers, Bruce-" Clint snapped his mouth shut and shook his head, making a move towards his room then. "Never mind. I'll get ready. Need out for a while anyway."

"Good! Maybe I can bring you clothes shopping too!" Clint pouted at how excited she sounded. He paused at his bedroom door, looking back in time to see Ellen disappear into the guest room.

"What's wrong with the clothes I have?" He called, and maybe he did know her a bit better than he thought because he could just hear the eye roll in her answer.

"Besides the fact you wear the same jeans every day?"

Maybe it's just a universal woman tone.

"Oh please." He scoffed. He entered his room to change as he spoke. "Everyone knows you don't need to wash jeans!"

"For my own sanity I'm gonna ignore that, Boss Man!"

This was only temporary.

But to Ellen it was as permanent as anything else in her life right now.

So he'd let her drag him shopping, he'd watch tv with her and joke with her other half. He'd let her stay when needed, and work when required. He'd let her keep these memories of him.

This was only temporary.

Clint would ignore that it was beginning to feel pretty damn permanent.

He'd definitely ignore that every day that fact was hurting him less and less.

* * *

"You're gonna kill it with the ladies now, Clint!"

"I'm not looking to do that, I hope you know."

"Come on, it'll be fun! You can't have taking bar skanks home being the only interactions you have in your love life!"

Clint eyebrows shot up and he turned his head to look at Ellen walking beside him. She was grinning back at him, her arms weighed down with shopping bags just as his were. Having no car in this kind of situation really sucked, but they were almost back at the bar after nearly 4 hours of shopping so right now he didn't have the energy to complain.

"Skanks?" He laughed, shaking his head at how casually that term left her lips. "What happened to women building each other up?"

"We do." She nodded, shrugging then a little. "But honestly boss, some of them were not women. Remember that one we had to drag from the men's room?"

A smirk spread across his face and he nodded, taking the corner that would begin the walk down the long street his bar sat on. "I just feel bad for disturbing what was such a good time for that man..."

"Meh. From what I could see he should be used to women leaving him."

"You're a little shit, you know that?" Clint laughed once more, taking another couple of bags from her hands when he saw her readjusting once more. Put his count of bags up to five grocery bags and one clothes bag, hers down to two clothes bags. He didn't mind. "I don't know how Mark puts up with you."

"I am an angel sent from the heavens above for that ass hat, don't get me started!" She laughed, giving him a little chuckle as well. "But Clint, I'm serious. We need to get you settled down! You're not getting younger, and love doesn't wait long!"

"Love is for children." He shrugged. His face dropped from his cheery state a moment ago because this was really something he didn't want to talk about.

"Deep." Ellen hummed. Clint kept his gaze ahead as they walked, the bar beginning to come into view. "Everyone deserves some love, even someone as grumpy as you. Surely there was someone once? You wouldn't talk like that if there wasn't!"

"What does it matter? You'll learn sometime, kid. Love is nothing but trouble. I mean Whiskey Sour last night, look how depressed it made her."

"That isn't all the time, Clint. Wanna look at someone then there's me and Mark? There's our parents? Nothing like that there."

Clint just shrugged. He had to change the topic. He couldn't think of the one person who still had his heart, not while in company. He readjusted the bags in his hands as he figured out a topic.

"There's too many fruits in these."

"There really isn't. There's not nearly enough!" Her tone was careful, but she took the hint. Score one Ellen.

"Oh come on, kid. Apples, banana's, and oranges? Just one of those is enough surely!"

"You have to be joking, right? How have you survived so long?"

Clint grinned a little at her reply and looked to see her staring at him with a grin of her own.

"Fucking lucky and lucky fucking, darling." He winked stopping at the door of the bar to place the bags on the ground and dig out the keys. He could feel some rain starting a little bit ago, thankfully they made it in time.

"You really are nothing but a dirty old man, huh?" Ellen laughed, standing next to him.

Clint had gone still though. Something wasn't right here. When he looked at the door properly he noticed that it was open just a crack more than usual, and it had him running through all his checks to make sure he locked up properly when they left. He always did, and today should be no different but the way his mind was today he wouldn't know for sure.

Slowly he passed the keys Ellen's way. He didn't look her way, but she took them anyway.

"Does Mark have a key?" He whispered, reaching around his back for the gun stashed in his belt.

"What? No." Ellen replied, confused. He looked to see her watching him curiously. "Why?"

"Stay out here, y'hear?" He whispered harshly. His mind kicked into mission mode and he had to ignore the wide eyes the young lady gave him when he took out the gun to make sure the safety was off. She was about to speak but he shook his head quickly to stop her. "If you hear anything that involves any kind of fight then you run to the Bradley's store across the street and get some help, understood?"

"Clint I-"

"Understood!?" He snapped harshly and she winced. He'd feel bad later, right now he needed to make sure she'd be ok if shit kicked off. She nodded when he stared at her until it sank in. "Good woman."

With that he went flush against the right side of the door. Ellen was still stood stock still on the opposite side so he quickly waved his hand to get her to back up. Last thing he needed was an explosion sending her to her death if they rigged the door. When she was a safe distance away - her hands free from the bags that were dropped and forgotten and instead busy fumbling with the folds in her skirt - he slowly pushed the door open with the palm of his hand.

No movement, no detonation.

He waited another moment flush against the wall for any kind of attack and frowned when none came. When enough oxygen was in his system to clear the fuzz in his mind he moved from the wall and entered the bar gun raised.

He scanned the whole area and found nothing out of the ordinary. The bar to the left was untouched from their clean up last night, the chairs still stacked up on the tables and the lights turned off. Even his dark little corner seemed unfazed by anything.

He took another step forward when first glances suggested an all clear, then another and another until he was halfway across the bar floor with no attack incoming.

Gun still raised high, his eyebrow kitted themselves together. Maybe he did just forget to lock up correctly and was lucky nothing was stolen. Maybe the door just stuck - it was winter time so anything could get caught there to make it compromised.

A sound behind him caught his attention. A soft pad that suggested an expert landing from up high. The roof. There were rafters up there, but not big enough for a regular burglar to sneak up to. This was a professional.

He was a split second away from turning and firing when he felt it.

"Shit.." He muttered under his breath.

Slowly, his hands raised up above his head, his weapon falling when they were all the way up. It was bad to say he was used to the feeling of a gun barrel against the back of his head. No bullets were ever put into his skull, but the threat was enough to have him weary.

He was cornered.

He was caught.

He was fucked.

Fear wasn't there though. An odd relief flooded his system because this was familiar, this was his life, and he found his next words tumble from his mouth before he could stop them.

"Just do it. Please."


	4. Chapter 4

If you're reading this surely it can be said you've never felt a barrel of a pistol held against the back of your skull. That strange sensation of metal through hair that shouldn't be able to strike such fear, but by god it does. For one Clint Barton, not only is this not the first time he's been in this situation, it was probably his hundredth.

In saying that, though, it was easy enough to get out of. Attackers seem to think that this position is the most powerful, that it's the best way to make someone do what they want or risk a giant hole being opened up where their brain used to be. Which, yes, is true. False at the same time, however. This position works fine for civilians, if someone was being robbed at gun point on the street or in their store then yes this would work fine. It would scare them enough to give over whatever the attacker wanted.

_"What are you doing?"_

_"Natasha, don't." Clint warned. She sounded so unimpressed._

_"I'm beating you, that's what! On your knees!"_

_Clint face palmed from the edge of the training room, not wanting to watch what Natasha would do to this newbie - stood stock proud behind her to cheering peers and one of their rubber practice guns held to her head._

If you knew the counter, if you knew to swiftly duck and turn then strike the flat side of the pistol hard with the heel of your hand to throw it away from the attacker then this was the easiest situation to get out of. Most peoples reaction times are too slow to be able to re-aim this close to a prisoner in time. If the newbie knew that it might have saved him an ass whooping, and a trip to the infirmary with a broken wrist.

Any professional knew to never use this attack style. Further away meant you had control over the whole persons body. The slightest angle change meant that while pointing at the persons head, if they tried to escape or charge in any way, their knee could be blown through with a bullet in no time flat. Any professional would choose that tactic over this one any day.

This person was definitely a professional the way they could hide and track. How softly their feet landed on the wooden floor of the bar, how easily they managed to sneak up straight behind him and place a weapon right against his skin before he could even turn with his own weapon.

This person was beyond a professional, and Clint knew to respect that.

He knew his old life would catch up with him sooner or later. He's just upset most that Ellen was here to witness this, but sometimes these things can't be helped. Standing with his hands raised, he accepted this was it, and staring dead ahead he let the words fall from his mouth.

"Just do it. Please."

A beat passed where he thought maybe the person behind him had a change of heart. Silence filled the bar, such a contrast from last night where there was nothing but life and joy here. Would he miss this place? He couldn't say he wouldn't. It was always temporary though.

"Drama queen." He heard muttered behind him before he felt the pain he was waiting for, and the knock sent him flying forward.

"Jesus Barnes, can't say I missed that!" He growled out deep, rubbing the back of his head where he was just pistol whipped. He turned to frown and the man.

James Barnes was the last person he expected to find in his bar, but was one of only two people in the world who he knew could sneak up like that. And every time in training it happened he would be pistol whipped in the back of his head bad enough to leave a lump for a few days afterwards.

Barnes wasn't in mission gear, Clint noted, as he stuffed his pistol into the back of his jeans. His hoodie hung loose off his shoulders, hiding all but the hand of his metal arm that would be a dead give away if he was strolling through the streets of Chicago. The man was eyeing Clint up and down the same way Clint was probably doing him until their eyes locked.

While Clint gave him a small smile, Barnes remained hard faced.

"Thought Fury was lying when he sent me here." He finally said, and Clint's smile fell. "You're dead, I told him. There's no way you could be alive. Yet here we are."

"Here we are." Clint sighed with a slight nod. So much for whatever kind of friendly reunion he was thinking of for all of 2 seconds. His hand dropped from the back of his head so he could bend down to pick up his own weapon. "And why is it a we? What can I do for you?"

There were a million other questions Clint wanted to ask that were screaming through his mind. How are things? How are the team? What's been happening? Was Tony allowed a bachelor party? Is Steve named best man yet? How many hulk outs has there been, by anyone in the team really? Has someone put Thor in a suit yet? Natasha...

"Clint?"

_Shit._

Bucky's head turned the slightest so he could look to the door, Clint standing in time to see Ellen's head poke in. She was looking at Barnes with the most terrified eyes and Clint kicked himself for not shouting out some kind of all clear to stop her worrying. He put the weapon in his belt as Barnes turned back to look at him.

"Bad time?" He asked with an eyebrow raised and Clint shook his head.

"Always a bad time to see your face, Buck. Help me in with bags." Clint sighed, walking past the assassin towards the door. He gave Ellen a small smile as he approached to let her know it was all ok. "Old friend. He's a larger guy if you can pull him one?"

Ellen nodded and passed the pair, Clint would put money on the fact she was giving Barnes some serious side eye as she passed him. She probably had questions too, he'd be worried if she didn't, but right now he had to get everyone settled inside before anything could be asked.

He didn't know if seeing Barnes here was a good thing or not. If it was an all clear surely Fury would message instead of sending the people he's been lying to for a half a year to get him. Even if he did, why Barnes? The pair weren't always that close, maybe that's why. Sure they got along well, never a bad moment between them, but why him? Barnes listened and followed Clint out to help him in with the bags, and Clint kept stealing glances his way to judge what kind of humour he was in as they brought the bags inside and left them on the bar.

Barnes slipped on a smile that he reserves for his polite encounters and held a hand - his human hand thank god because Clint didn't want to see the reaction the other would get - out to Ellen as Clint locked the front door. "James Barnes, nice to meet you."

"Ellen." She simply supplied, Clint turned back to them in time to see her give the 'I don't care who you are but alright, I'll play.' smile as they shook hands. She passed him the pint then and he took up a stool at the bar.

"Is this a conversation I should send her home for?" Clint's Russian was rusty, he knew that, but he asked in it anyway through a sigh when he joined the pair at the bar. He went behind it to grab a bottle of Jack and a glass. He gave Ellen a small smile when she cast him a doubtful eye, she knows he doesn't drink much anymore. Anymore just ended. He'd need a drink for this.

"Depends." Barnes shrugged his reply. Clint noticed him eyeing up Ellen and he found a sudden urge to protect her swell. She had taken to shining up glasses that were left in the dishwasher all night and he knew that if he asked her to leave she'd point blank refuse.

"On?" Clint pushed.

"How much she knows about you." That line ended their Russian exchange. Clint sighed and downed the thimble he poured himself before pouring another larger sup. That line piqued Ellen's interests, and she wasn't subtle about it. "Depends on how much I want to divulge in the humour I'm in with you."

"You an army friend of Clint's?" She asked with a fascinated face. Oh so many drinks would be needed. Clint glanced at Barnes to see the most shit eating grin plastered, half the pint in front of him already gone. "I know about that, if that's what you mean. I know he was in some high level shit."

"You could say that." Barnes chuckled, his line of sight leaving Ellen and finding Clint. "Couldn't think of a better story?"

"She spotted the scars, had to tell her something." Clint shrugged, watching the whiskey in his glass instead of looking to the obviously confused young lady by his side. "Army seemed the best one. Thanks for calling me out, asshole."

"Hey, I did nothing!" Barnes laughed as he held his hands up in defence, he looked to Ellen then with a grin. "Yet, anyway."

"Bucky I swear to fuck-"

"Y'ever hear of Hawkeye?"

"The Avenger? Bow and arrow guy?" Ellen said through a hum, and he could hear her surprised squeal when he quite unceremoniously face-planted the bar. This conversation could not be happening. It was a bad dream, it had to be. He was having such a chill day up until this point!

"That's the one!" Barnes replied, Clint kept his head firmly on the bar because no, he's refusing to do this. "Know his name? What happened to him?"

"Subtle." Clint grumbled, standing properly to down his drink once more. He moved away from the pair to the supply room behind the bar, might as well restock while dealing with this shit. "You can head home now, Ellen."

"Don't keep up with 'em that much." He heard Ellen say, completely ignoring his comment. He growled a little and opened a crate of bottles, taking a couple into his arms to bring out to the shelf. "Other than Stark. Mark really likes the idea of him."

"Idea's all good. Living with him is different, huh Clint?"

Clint ignored the man to instead stock the shelf behind the bar with the bottles he carried out, busying himself by taking the pour tops off the old bottles and putting them on the new. He had too much work to do to play this game, but Barnes wasn't taking the hint.

"You know the Winter Soldier?" He pushed Ellen. Clint commented before she could, not turning to look at either of them though.

"Jeez Barnes, don't have her googling that if she doesn't." That was a slippery slope he wanted to shield the young lady from if he could help it. Some of the crimes Barnes committed under that control had even him shuddering.

"No no, I know him. Guy with the metal arm, that looks awesome!" Ellen said quickly, taking an empty vodka bottle Clint held out. He heard it rattle in the bottle bin under the bar a moment later. "I know all their code names, the ones the media call them by. I know what they do and man we owe them some debt!"

"You're too nice to be working with Clint here. How'd he land you?" Barnes sounded genuinely interested. Clint was too interested in fitting a pour spout into a new bottle of Vodka to care.

"Bad luck." Ellen answered through a laugh, though she patted Clint's back. "What about you? In the bar business or a different kind of old friend."

"Different kind." Clint turned in time to see Barnes grinning his way, the pint glass in front of him empty. Clint took it and filled it up once more. No harm in being nice to the guy who was about to destroy the life he had. The ass hole reached for it with his metal hand and he swore Ellen nearly leapt on top of the bar to get a closer look.

"No. Way." She breathed out, at least waiting for Barnes to put the pint down before grabbing the arm and pulling it towards her. The hoodie sleeve was pulled up to reveal more of it by her. Clint would have smiled at how she looked between it and Barnes' face like an excited child if he didn't hate everything that was happening right now. "There is not an Avenger in here!?"

"Oh there is." Barnes laughed. "Two, actually."

Clint poured another drink and walked away from the two to take a seat at one of the tables opposite the bar. He didn't want this to be happening anymore. He turned the chair so he could still face them though. He needed to keep an eye on Barnes, he found trust in short supply lately.

"If Captain is hiding somewhere I think I will die!" Ellen squealed, releasing Barnes' arm so he could turn sideways. He had a view of Clint as well that way. "Clint, is Captain America here too!? Did you two serve with him or something!? Can I hold the shield, Mark will die if he sees a picture of me with that, and-"

"Nah, Steve is busy." Bucky cut off Ellen's hyper rant, Clint hated him a little for it. He rarely saw her that excited. Barnes took another sip of his pint and turned fully to look at Clint then. His smile was gone. Clint could safely say he was kind of jealous of Ellen for getting nice Bucky while he got the Barnes scowl. "Bow and arrow guy, though,-"

"Hawkeye." Clint corrected quietly. People not knowing him when he was part of the team was a pet peeve, and Barnes knew it.

"Hawkeye," Barnes corrected, "was our sharpshooter. He was good, not as good as me mind you. But he kept us safe, kept an eye on all of us. He was out ace in the hole is things ever turned south."

"Was?" Ellen asked innocently, coming around the bar so she could keep in the loop.

"Was." Barnes nodded. His gaze stayed with Clint, and Clint held his stare just as defiantly. "There was an incident a little over six months ago now. Explosion. Killed on site."

"Oh no, I'm sorry." Ellen said softly, genuinely meaning it. Clint downed his drink, a small buzz forming. He hadn't drank this much in a while, but he needed it for the beating he was probably about to receive from Ellen.

"Oh don't be. I recently learned that he actually survived." Barnes' voice was back to what he remembered it as - serious and business like. He never considered them close friends, but the way the words were drawn out made him think that maybe the other man did feel something akin to sadness at Clint's death. "Given a new identity while we hunted down the people responsible. A hit on an Avenger has to look successful, even to other Avengers. We were told he died, we were left to suffer that life. Left to suffer knowing that one of our own was taken from under our noses, that there was no way to protect him after he had done just that for us so many times before. We were left mourning while he skipped off into the sunset with a new life."

"Orders are orders." Clint said with a shrug, surprised when he heard a growl coming from Barnes.

"Oh bullshit and you know it." He said harshly, the pint glass he was holding being slammed on the bar as he spoke. "Do you have any idea what you did? The shit you pulled left wounds that are still open and bleeding and will probably never fucking scar! It left a hole, Clint! Tell Fury to go fuck himself next time because we sure as hell are never looking after Natasha like that again, you ass!"

Silence fell after the outburst, each Avenger staring the other one in the eye for any kind of weakness of reproach. But both held firm, stubborn, that is until Clint noticed Ellen shift a little uncomfortably from the corner of his eye. The way Barnes took a breath made him think he saw it too.

"What's Clint's surname, Ellen?"

"Ellen, go home and I'll call you later." Clint pushed once more, frantic. Barnes wasn't in a playing mood, this was serious. This was something Clint should tell her.

"Clint's surname? I-" She stopped herself, and Clint found the floor boards more interesting than either of them right now. "I don't know actually. Burne? Brody? B - something."

"Pay cheques come from a Stephen Bryan, right?" Bucky pushed, Clint guessed Ellen gave a small nod. "Clint always hated alias names. That's the one he was given, and I'm guessing he let his real name slip to you one day and it's just stuck."

_"Real smooth, Clint. Real fucking smooth. Just fucking dial her number and hang up twice. Because she's not going to try trace that, huh Clint? She's not gonna go full spy mode Clint, no no, you didn't just fucking compromise yourself because you're a weak ass son of a-"_

_"Who's Clint?"_

_"What do you mean 'who's Clint?'? I am. Who did you think-"_

_He came up short when he turned from looking at the phone in his hand to see the newest bar tender - Eva? Ella? Ellen. - standing in the fire escape doorway. Him sitting on the step blocked her from coming out with the rubbish bag from the night. He's had too much whiskey tonight if he hadn't noticed the door even opening behind him._

_"I thought you were Stephen?" Ellen pouted in confusion. She dropped the bag and hunkered down to meet Clint at eye level._

_"Clint's m'name." He grumbled, frowning a little as he cast his gaze downward. Fuck Stephen Bryan, fuck Chicago, fuck everything that's going on right now. Where was Natasha? She should be here by now to get him, bring him home, like she always did. He might have had too much whiskey..._

_"Well hey, my first name is Amy but I use my middle name too." Ellen's voice was soft, understanding. He might have made a good choice with this one. "Whoever you were dialing won't think any less of you, y'know. Give her time, boss man. She'll come back to you! But what do you say we find you some coffee?"_

"Alias? What?" Ellen sounded so confused, and a glance her way showed her staring right at Clint. "Clint, what's this guy going on about?"

"Meet Clinton Francis Barton." Barnes said through a sigh. He must be bored with this game and want it done and over with. "A.K.A. Hawkeye, the worlds greatest marksman and former Avenger."

Silence.

Clint never wanted her to find this out. How he'd have explained his disappearance to her and the people he knew here when he'd eventually leave he wasn't sure. This definitely wasn't how though, and he had half a mind to send a bullet through Bucky's skull for making that look of sheer confusion and hurt appear on Ellen's face.

"Hawkeye." Ellen was first to speak up, her tone quiet, almost as if she was testing the word.

Clint was the one who nodded at her. His hands were fumbling in his lap, a nervous energy needing to be released somehow.

"A.K.A the bag of dicks who left a very personal friend of mine grieving a fiancé who hadn't even died." Barnes said lowly, and right yes, that would be why he was so pissed. He sometimes forgot just how close the pair of them were so yes, he'd understand Barnes wanting some revenge here.

"Fiancé?" Ellen asked in a whisper, eyes wider now. Something Clint thought was impossible. "Clint, what the fuck?"

"That's a very loaded question." Clint sighed, his whole body deflating. He was fucked. He just completely lost her trust and he knew it.

"You lied to me." Ellen shook her head when Clint made a move to stand. "Don't. You had us on for months, you had us thinking you were some poor war vet who needed help! You had all of us believing this bull shit story that you're alone in this world when really you're an Avenger just here for shits and giggles!?"

"Ex-Avenger." Barnes added, Clint sending him a glare for it. He gave Clint a shrug and took a swig from his pint before Ellen threw a smack at his arm and made him flinch back in surprise. "What was that for?"

"You have no right to say anything right now!" She yelled. This kid had balls. Her anger wasn't directed at Barnes for long before it was back on Clint. "You have to say everything right now."

"El, you're too young to understand this." Clint frowned. It was the wrong answer if her scowl was anything to go by. "There's some bad people out there who do bad things and it was either I stay and die or I come here and-"

"And lie." She finished for him. Her hands were fists by her side and he found himself almost fearing this young woman. "You chose to come here and lie, come here and wriggle into our lives, into our hearts, become an employer and father to us and then what? Leave the second you were allowed? Go back to your pretty little team in your mansion with your Fiancé and live happily ever after while we try keep this fucking place going with a hole in our lives instead? If that's the choice you came to then I wish you just stayed there to die."

"Damn." Barnes muttered at the end of the outburst, but Clint's eyes were locked with Ellen's. The tears were building up in her eyes with each passing word, and it had a lump forming in Clint's throat.

"Ellen..." Smooth Barton. That whispered shit is exactly what you have to say. Not sorry for thinking that, not sorry for that being exactly his plan, not sorry for not thinking of them or for thinking it ok to just worm his way in like that to fuck off again. No, whisper her name, that's exactly what's needed. Idiot.

"I have to go." She said suddenly, harshly, storming her way towards the door. He deserved that.

"Whoa wait." Barnes sprang to his feet and took a hold of her arm just as she was at the door. Clint was up on his feet the instant his hand closed around her arm. He hoped Barnes wouldn't do anything to hurt someone innocent, but Clint couldn't help feel the protective need. Ellen turned to look at the man who had a hold on her, scowling like a champ. "You can't say anything. You do and we're both dead, you understand, right?"

Ellen seemed to consider this for a moment, Bucky's hand never letting up on her arm while she considered. Eventually she nodded, and Clint let out a breath he didn't know he was holding before walking past the two to unlock the door.

"I'll call you later." He mumbled to Ellen as he held the door open for her, but she didn't reply. She didn't even look his way as she left. Clint didn't expect any of his calls later to be answered.

"Dude, she just wished you dead." Bucky said once the door was closed. If Clint didn't know better he'd have sensed pride in his tone. "I like that one. You're good at finding bad ass women, I'll give you that."

"Not even funny how much I hate you right now." Clint growled, locking the door once more. He turned to clear away the few glasses they had used during that talk, his eyes not even trying to find Bucky.

"Tough shit. We're even now so it's fine." Barnes replied, passing Clint his glass when he held a hand out.

"You didn't need to use Ellen for that." Clint said as he sat on the stool next to Barnes when the glasses were in the dishwasher. "She's done nothing."

"Either had Natasha, and yet-"

"Don't you dare." Clint growled, hands clasped tightly together on the bar top to keep his anger under control. "Don't you dare use her against me right now. Or ever for that matter."

And to his credit, even if he was a petty asshole just a few moments ago, Barnes shut it. He let Clint sit with his thoughts and didn't push anymore. Maybe he knew he crossed a line, or maybe not. If someone broke Clint's best friends heart he'd probably do alot worse than Bucky had just done. That thought of that had Clint taking a deep breath and finally had his hands relaxing.

"The rest of the team don't know, do they?" Clint asked quietly, all fight and any kind of energy he had leaving him.

"No. Fury sent me because he thought us the best duo to send." Bucky replied. He was hunched on the bar, looking down at a cardboard coaster he was spinning between his metal fingers.

Once upon a time that duo would have been himself and Natasha, but she'd have probably killed Clint if she was the one sent. That had a horrible pang nearly stopping his heart.

"Wait, what? Send where?" Clint finally copped onto the words that were just said to him. He looked to Bucky with a little more energy in time to see the other man shrug.

"While tracking the people who took the hit on your life, SHIELD came across a group that might hold some information. They're old friends of yours, no one knows them better. If there was then that's where I'd be."

"Who is it?" Clint's eyebrows were knitted together now. The thought of knowing his attackers was more unsettling to him than if it was just a random hit. Barnes sat up straight and reached inside his hoodie, finally looking Clint's way as he slid a folder across the area of bar separating the pair.

It had been so very long since he's seen the oh-so boring SHEILD manilla files, but something about it had a kind of excitement spreading through his system. He opened it up carefully and read the first few lines, groaning then.

"You're joking..."

"The Circus of Crime." Barnes said with a nod, pointing to the bottles behind the bar in a 'do you mind?' manner. Clint shrugged and so Bucky went behind to pour himself a drink. "Worst name I've come across in a long time, that's for sure. I hear you've had a few run-ins."

"Back in the bad ol' days, yeah." Clint nodded, looking away from Barnes to look at the information in front of him. "Last I heard the all turned on Tiboldt and they went their separate ways."

"Until about nine months ago." Barnes continued the story. Clint dropped the file on the bar to look at the man with an eyebrow raised. He was leaning against the shelves behind the bar sipping on some Vodka. "We have some reason to believe that whoever regathered the group together was whoever wanted you out of the picture."

"Oh come on, that's a stretch even for those guys." Clint frowned and shook his head. "They do petty thievery, heists, that sort of stuff. Sure they'd probably sell someone's kidney if it got them a pretty penny, but murder is a bit of a stretch."

"I agree." Bucky nodded, setting the drink down to cross his arms over his chest. "I'm not saying murder, I'm saying out of the way. Gone. Lets be honest here, you were the last one to take these guys down. Whoever reformed it, whoever is in charge of this, the only one they have to fear is you."

"You think they knew that bomb would fail?"

"They had to have." Barnes shrugged, pouring himself some more Vodka. Clint would have to restock the bottle again if Barnes liked it. "You were out of that hospital in a week, Clint. From an explosion. That shit isn't supposed to happen. From what I can tell there was no where near enough power to kill you, but just enough to make it look like it was supposed to and something went wrong."

"I don't know." Clint sighed, scratching the back of his head as he thought about it. "They weren't really the sharpest tacks in the box. I don't know if they'd be able to pull a plan like that off."

"I don't think they did. This hit screams someone a little more in the loop. Someone who knew a hit on you would result in you being hidden for a while. These guys were located about two hours from your place the day before the hit, it's the only reason we're looking into them. Coincidences like that just don't exist in life."

They do not, he's correct. If there's one thing he's learned over the years it's that if you turn a blind eye to any kind of coincidence then you'll be paying for it later.

"Why didn't Fury let me know when they resurfaced first?" Clint asked with an eyebrow raised. "Seems like something I should have known."

"Like you said - they're low level thievery. He had agents watching them, keeping tabs. You were Avengers status, Hawk. These guys were a little too much below your pay grade."

"So what do you want me to do about it now? I can't really write a report on these guys for you, Buck. Maybe I could have a few years ago, maybe, but I don't know who's there anymore."

"Either do we." He shrugged. His eyes lit up then when he spotted something. Clint watched as the man reached to the shelf under the bar and came back up with a little pack of peanuts. "So we're going on a camping trip."

"We?"

"We." Barnes nodded, popping open the small pack and throwing a couple of peanuts into his mouth. "You and me. No one better suited for what could be a long term stake out than two snipers."

"Bucky I can't." Clint sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Hawkeye is out of the game. If I get spotted at all then all hell will break loose."

"I'm not looking for Hawkeye." Barnes said, and Clint's hand dropped to see the man grinning his direction.

"Agent Barton?" Clint asked with an eyebrow raised, to which Barnes shook his head. "Well Clint the Bartender isn't any use at all."

"Didn't know you tended." Barnes made a slightly impressed face before he started walking away from the bar and towards the stairs. Clint scurried after him because there was no way he was letting him upstairs alone. "Last night I came in to Clint the Guitar Man."

"You were here?" Clint asked in shock, watching Barnes' back as the climbed the stairs.

"Had to make sure I had the right Clint."

"How many are there in Chicago?"

"You'd be surprised!" Bucky laughed a little, going towards the kitchen as soon as they got upstairs. "None sing as beautifully as you, really. Voice of an angel who smokes 40 a day."

Clint frowned a little when he noticed a black gym back on the small kitchen table, his curiosity outweighing his urge to tell Barnes to fuck himself for the comment. Something about having a notoriously feared assassin alone in his apartment while he was out shopping had an uneasy knot in his stomach.

"Here's the thing, Barton." Bucky started, going to stand by the table to unzip the top of the go bag. "I don't need any of those people. Truth is, the second they see you in any way they recognise then we're made. We know they know they're being watched, we know they aren't bothered by it. They're being watched for what they used to be known to do. If they're up to something worse like blowing up an Avengers apartment then they know SHIELD won't suspect them. So we're not worried about being spotted. Unless you're there."

"Please tell me you made more sense than this in the war? How did you become Sergeant with this level of bullshit?"

There was a strange grin settled onto Barnes' face, and Clint didn't know if he should be scared or not. The other man sat down behind the gym bag and pushed it slightly toward Clint's side of the table. Curious, Clint moved forward to take a peek.

His breath caught in his throat at what was inside, eyes going wide at the beauty of it all.

"How did you...?" He whispered, not daring touch yet in case he was told he wasn't going to be using it.

"SHIELD have had it for a while. You don't think they didn't know about you, did you?"

He didn't think that, no. But he was more than sure this masterpiece was long gone now. He hasn't seen it in years, hasn't heard of it in a long time either. Last he heard the user after him had no luck in getting off the mark with it. Not like Clint.

Next to Hawkeye this was Clint's most favourite identity, his longest serving one besides the bow wielding assassin. He slightly loved Barnes right now for reuniting him with it.

"You know, you're still the only one who can say they surprised the Winter Solider." Bucky said, snapping Clint from his thoughts of just how in love he was. "Can safely say I'm a fan of yours."

He ignored the comment and reached in with shaking hands, carefully cradling the weapon in his hands.

It felt just as perfectly balanced as he remembered.

This Katana had seen him through some dark and dangerous times in life. Maybe it was the lack of holding or even looking at any kind of weaponry other than his pistol in god knows how long, but Clint was honestly nearly crying at the feel of the scabbard. He held the top end of it in his left hand and ran his right hand up towards the handle, committing all the dips and grooves of the leather to memory. Carefully, almost as if it would disappear, he gripped the handle and pulled the blade from its home. It came out smoothly, though he stopped when halfway out, the familiar shine of the blade meeting Clint's eyes. He swore he could actually see his smiling reflection in it.

"Did'ya know I learned to use these before my bow and arrow?" He said softly, turning the blade over to see if it was just as well maintained on the opposite side, evenly sharpened.

"You gonna make love to it or are you gonna look at the rest of the bag?" Bucky asked, and Clint clipped the blade into its sheath once more before carefully laying it on the table.

He took a peek inside the bag, and sure enough what he thought was there was shining up at him. A mass of black and gold fabric folded into the bag as neatly as could be, and he'd bet everything he had on the fact that if he pressed on it then the hard feeling of armour would meet his touch.

"As far as I know it's just me and Fury who know who this side of you." Barnes continued, and Clint nodded even though it wasn't a question. "So chances of these guys knowing and running at first sight are pretty much impossible."

"I can be there without being there. Smart." Clint grinned, looking at Bucky once again. "You have no idea how much I wanted to put an arrow through your knee for that hit you gave me as Winter Solider when you came to the tower."

"If I had known you were him, I probably would have let you." Barnes laughed, leaning back on the chair to watch Clint. "What do you say, Ronin? You game?"

The grin spread even further across Clint's face. An enthusiastic nod followed. That name hasn't hit his ears in a lifetime.

"Good! One last gift just for being a good sport earlier, and for the awkward phone call you're going to have to make to that girl." Bucky stood and pulled a case from under the chair, placing it on the table gently. "You mightn't be Hawkeye anymore, but last I remember Ronin had a bow and arrow set to his name as well. Or else it was someone else's arrow that was pulled from my shoulder."

Clint didn't know what to say. This was the happiest he's been since he arrived here, and even though he wanted to kill Bucky less than hour ago right now he could actually kiss him for bringing such joy to his world again.

He was busy staring at the sword on the table, the gold detailing on the handle braiding catching his eyes more than anything. It was a pure beauty, and Clint lost his mind in it enough to miss Barnes walk right past him until he spoke.

"Wheels up 0200. I left the co-ordinates in the bag."

Wheels up 0200.

This was beginning to feel like Christmas eve.

* * *

"You've reached Ellen, you know what to do-"

Clint hung up before the beep. Checking the call log told him that this was his 8th time to do so, and once more his finger pressed her name to make it a 9th.

Ring, ring, ri-Click- "You've reached El-"

Clint sighed roughly and hung up the phone, throwing the damn device down beside him on the bed. It was no use to him right now. He hurt her. He knew it, she was actively hanging up on him, and it had his heart breaking. He fucked up and there was nothing he could do about it.

_"I wish you just stayed there to die."_

The memory had a growl leaving his throat and had him hunching over with his head in his hands. It had stung. It had a lump in his throat, a hole in his heart, and it pissed him off that there was such a reaction to the comment in his mind.

There wasn't supposed to be an attachment here. That was always the plan, always the game play. He was supposed to have enough of a cover to survive but not too much to be in the spot he's in now. He wasn't supposed to have friends, wasn't supposed to have people he cared about. Maybe some part of him wanted this to be permanent. Maybe some part of him really loved living a normal life like everyone else in the entire universe except himself gets to have. Clint never became this compromised on a mission. Well... Once. But she was the exception. She was always the exception.

He stood and grabbed his phone, pacing the floor at the foot of his bed as he tapped the device against his chin. He couldn't say goodbye through text, that was entirely too impersonal. Leaving a voice mail meant that, if she was as pissed as Clint thought she was, she would just delete it and everything he had to say to them all would be lost forever.

Where he was going there was a slim chance of him coming back - one way or another. He paused in his pacing and glanced back to the bed. Behind where he was just sitting lay his bow - arrows strewn out around it, placed there after he made sure they were ok to be used. The Katana was propped up against the headboard. The sight of these reminded him just how real this was.

He was going on mission. No matter who it was with, or who it was regarding, these were always dangerous. He couldn't leave them the way they were knowing that.

_"It's fine, Phil. I'm giving her time to cool off."_

_"That might not be the best way to play this, Barton."_

_"What, think she'll go fuck someone else while I'm gone?"_

_His chuckled comment wasn't received well by their handler. Phil gave him the stare that told him to man up and get real. Clint sighed._

_"Look - she doesn't want to talk to me right now. She's made that clear, I fucked up by spewing my mouth. So I'll go take my shit out on some AIM dick bags and be back in time to still be given the infamous Black Widow cold shoulder."_

_"This is a mistake."_

_"Title of your sex tape?"_

He should have listened to Coulson because, sure enough, things went south on that mission. Natasha being annoyed with him meant that Clint was given another SHIELD agent to play partner and said SHIELD agent wasn't entirely too loyal. A month in captivity, a call too close with his old friend death, and a week spent in a hospital bed later, Clint was banging down her door and begging for her forgiveness. Natasha never knew he was even on a mission - thus is the secrecy of SHIELD - and he never told her so either.

The thought that he could go on something as simple as a coffee run for the tower and be gunned down without anyone being any the wiser had him refusing to leave on bad terms with people. Even the people here who he shouldn't feel anything for at all.

He glanced at the clock on his bedside cabinet - bright green numbers displaying 21:43. He had 4 and some change hours before he had to meet Barnes. All of his belongings were in that gym bag he left him with - suit, spare clothes, toiletries - the entirety of his life here fitting into such a small space was almost depressing.

The phone pinged in his hand and he almost dropped it trying to unlock the message that came through. It wasn't what he wanted to see really, it was Mark sending a simple 'Wat up?' his way. Clint shook his head at his stupidity and started packing up the bow and arrows into their case. He was acting like a stupid teenager after a bad breakup just waiting for the other person to come crawling back. That was no way for him to act about all of this.

A breakup.

His eyebrows drew together at that thought. As he clicked the black case closed his eyes went back to the phone on the bed - still opened on the message he just received. If Ellen was upset there were two places she'd go - here and there. With Clint or with Mark, the two people she could vent to most in the world without fear of them spilling to anyone else. Had the other man noticed her ignoring Clint's calls? Had she told him about everything that happened? Was he compromised?

The agent side of his brain had him needing to go see Mark now, to make sure that he also knew to keep this information to himself. The emotional side of his brain had him needing to go see Mark now, to make sure that everything was settled before he left.

'Where you guys at?' Clint finally sent back. He pocketed his phone so he could have hands enough to grab the bow case and Katana. Once the sword was safely hidden in the top of the gym bag he checked the phone again to see 'Mine u comin?'. Clint grabbed all his gear and was at the bar door in an instant.

He paused, standing in the doorway to take one last look at the place that had kept him going. The place that made him laugh and cry, the place that gave him a purpose when his old one was ripped away. He committed every single detail to memory, to keep with him in case ever he needed it again. He took one last glance at the dark corner with his stool and a stage, the guitar still propped up against the wall just waiting for him to play.

A sad smile crossed his lips and that was all he allowed himself to feel. Locking the door, he turned and got into the taxi he ordered that was waiting there for him. He gave the driver Mark's address, made sure he had all his luggage, and left his home.

When they pulled up 10 minutes later to the house - Mark's parent's because honestly if even Clint couldn't afford to buy a house there's no way a college student could - the porch light was on. He stepped out of the cab with his luggage and pulled the hoodie he had on a little tighter to his body when a cold wind flew past him. Walking up the garden he noticed a shape on the porch swing, the person stood when Clint approached and he sent the man a small smile.

"I was threatened with castration if I let you inside." Mark said as a greeting, a hint of a laugh in his voice. Clint smiled and nodded, dropping his bag and case on the porch step before going up to give Mark a handshake.

"If you had something between those chicken legs then I'd be worried."

"Rude! No wonder she isn't talking to you!" Mark laughed. The humour fell though when he noticed Clint's smile fade. "Wanna sit?"

Clint glanced at his wrist watch and, yeah, he had time to sit. So he did. The pair of them sat on the porch swing, the seat gently rocking under the weight of them plonking down on it. Their shoulders touching, they fell into a silence for a moment. Clint's eyes stayed locked on the luggage he brought, suddenly feeling a weight on him that he hasn't felt in a long time.

Nerves.

Not as far as fear, but definitely nerves. He had this conversation a million and one times in the past, the one that says I'm going away for a while and may or may not be back. But every other time he's done it the other person had understood exactly why. This was different.

"You two fight?" Mark was first to break the silence. It broke Clint from his trance.

"She didn't tell you?" He asked quietly, softly, sparing a glance at the younger man by his side. In any other life he would look past this guy as nothing more than a bone head college student. He liked to think Chicago made him a little more open, because if he was going anywhere other than here after this mission then he would have to find a friend like Mark.

"Stormed in, fell onto the bed, didn't utter a word." Mark said with a shake of his head. He smiled when he noticed Clint's eyes on him. "When she threw her phone down with 'Fuck off Clint', kinda figured to message and let her steam."

"Smart man." Clint smiled back his way, looking to his gear once again then as he hunched over with arms on knees. His hands wrung together and apart over and over again while he thought of his next words. Mark beat him to it though.

"I guess she doesn't like you leaving?" He said slowly, fishing Clint realised. She hadn't told him a damn thing. Clint felt a kind of adoration for Ellen for not spilling what happened even though she was hating him right now.

"When I go you should talk to her." Clint said quietly, shrugging. "Tell her I said it's fine to tell you everything."

"Everything?" Clint didn't take the bait. The quietness made Mark sigh then. "Ok, boss man."

A small grin broke his sullen mood. He sat up to turn and look at Mark properly who had an eyebrow raised his way.

"You guys are on college break for while, right?" His hand was busying itself in his pocket trying to carefully take the bar key from under the pistol there as he asked. Mark nodded. "I'll keep the bar supplies coming. Ellen knows how to work the books and manage, you know how to tend, you guys have plenty of help around as well."

"You're not selling it?" Mark asked with wide eyes. He was as careful taking the set of master keys from Clint as he had handled the katana just a couple of hours previous.

"Not a chance." Clint laughed, shaking his head. "Odds are I'll be back in a month or so. Besides, I'd rather you two set up a life if you can."

"I don't think we can take a bar, Clint." Mark frowned, trying to give the keys back. He was overthinking it. "We can't afford it, we're students, and-"

"And nothing." Clint cut him off. "I trust no one else with it. I'm not asking you to pay anything, it'll all be sorted. Bills for the apartment above it that you two better live in included. Hire who you need to help. But you're over 21, you're both fantastic at this stuff, and there's no other answer I'll accept other than 'I'll pack our bags tonight and live happily ever after', you got it?"

Clint might have gotten a little serious near the end there, but he needed the guy to understand. He was trusting them to keep the closest thing to him in the world right now safe, to make sure that they keep their heads above water. He doesn't want to leave them high and dry - with no job and no way to escape if they needed to. They basically lived with him there anyway, no sense in kicking them out entirely just because he has to leave for a while.

Mark nodded after a moment of thinking, a small smile taking shape. "Thanks, Clint. Really."

"Don't thank me when you have to kick Brian out next Sunday after him not getting to drink today." Clint laughed lightly, making a move to stand then. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and from his peripheral he noticed the slightest outline of a shadow through the fogged glass of the front door.

He went and grabbed his bags from the steps, slinging the gym bag over his shoulders before turning to watch Mark stand.

"My phone will always be on. You guys are the only ones with the number. If anything happens I'll be on the other end."

Mark nodded one last time. Clint smiled and held his hand out for a shake, but let out a surprised yelp when the young man pulled Clint into a hug instead. He returned it without another thought, and just as quickly as it started it then ended.

"Tell Ellen to stay out of trouble and I'll see her later." Clint said loud enough for the shadow behind the door to hear. Marks slight turn of his head let Clint know he knew she was there the whole time.

He turned on his heels then and walked back down the garden. He had three and a half hours left, coffee was calling, because sleep wasn't going to be happening.

He said his goodbyes, go this affairs in order, now all that was left was the mission.

He was two houses down when he heard the closing of a door. It shutting signalled his time to shut them from his mind.

Now he had to get his old life back.

Or as much of it as he could.


	5. Chapter 5

Surveillance day 42

"Be a few days, Clint..." His mumbles were half annoyance and half strain as his elbows straightened, pushing his body off the floor. His muscles screamed at him, begging for relief, but Clint held steady. "A week's top and you'll be home! A week my ass.."

A lot has left him over the time he's been inactive. Stealth, hand to hand, shooting, tactics - they've all been things that have been near enough impossible to replicate while he's been playing bar man. This damned mission hasn't given him a chance to test any of them either as of yet.

But fitness would never leave him. When he was bored cleaning the dishes he'd get a few squats in, while restocking the bar he'd take that little bit more weight than would be comfortable, and when he was particularly itching for activity a morning jog would be on the cards. The most fun of his fitness routine though watching Ellen and Mark bet with patrons about how many push ups he could do, and the pure joy it gave them when he'd match, and occasionally surpass, their expectations.

41 he was up to now, only 9 to go until he met his target.

With a huffed out breath he let his muscles finally relax and lower him down. As he was lowering - as he did with the previous 40 push ups - he spared a glance to the wall covered by screens. No movement, so he lowered fully.

What he was looking for on the screens he couldn't really say. Either could Barnes. Or Fury, or SHIELD, or probably even the actual people they were watching. All he knew was they'd know it when they see it. 'Someone in charge. The one who's after you.', they were eventually told. All those so far coming and going from the base didn't seem to be important enough for that at all.

That meant it had Clint cramped up in this eight foot by eight foot room for twelve hours a day - watching and waiting for something that might never happen. The rest of those twelve hours were spent sleeping, eating, reading, pacing, talking to himself, arguing with Barnes, ignoring Barnes, annoying Barnes, hating every single little breath Barnes took, laughing with Barnes.

"You need out of here." He sighed to himself, one more push up slowly. A small frown spread across his face when he glances between his stomach and the floor to see the golden sash holding his kimono in place had fallen open. That would make the rest of the push ups annoying. His eyes locked on the screens then again. "Spending too much time with Barnes. Gonna fall in love, have his babies, live happily ever after. Stockholm syndrome is a thing, Clint, nothing to be ashamed of. So is insanity and-"

"What are you doing?"

"Baking. What does it look like?"

"I left you to watch the camera's."

"Work out time can be any time, Barnes. I know with a metal arm you don't have to, but I gotta keep these guns in shape!"

"Too many of those can hurt more than help."

Clint paused at that, the words striking something in the back of his mind unpleasantly. He pouted slightly and turned his gaze from the set of screens on the wall to Barnes who had taken up a seat in the corner. He wasn't looking Clint's way, his eyes instead on the rifle he was taking apart on the table in front of him. But the way he raised his brow slightly told Clint to say what every he wanted to say.

"Nat used to say that to newbies."

"I'd believe that. Natalia is infinitely smarter than you are." Barnes shrugged. Clint pouted even more. He hopped up onto his feet and stretched his arms over his head to pop his shoulders.

"I was only up to forty three, not even any kind of pain yet, scouts honour."

"You shouldn't have been up to any." Barnes sighed. Clint noticed him take his eyes off his weapon for only a fraction of a second at a time to glance at the screens. Even when his gaze strayed his hands never stalled in their meticulous cleaning ritual. The sniper in Clint could appreciate that. "There's no way you can keep an eye on things like that while looking at the floor."

"Really?" Clint raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "You're questioning the vision of someone named Hawkeye?"

"No." Bucky shook his head, shooting a quick grin Clint's way then. "I'm questioning someone named Ronin. Hawkeye is back in New York."

"Funny." Clint deadpanned. He tightened the sash that had come loose before shooting Barnes a middle finger. "Can I go now? I want some sleep. Watching people live their lives for the millionth day in a row is exhausting."

"Forty-secondth day." Barnes muttered. Clint was slowly getting used to the guy not understanding his humour. "But do whatever makes you happy. I got the next twelve hours. Though would one perimeter patrol kill you?"

"Actually it would, I'm allergic." He replied as he threw the cowl that would cover his identity over his shoulder to emphasise that. The growl that followed let Clint know he succeeded in making it land on Bucky's head, though he didn't check. Instead his eyes stayed in front of him, one hand on the hilt of the katana hanging on his hip while the other rand his fingertips along the brick walls of the staircase he was climbing.

Sure; their command centre was the lowest part of their current quarters, but their highest parts weren't even that high. The entire bunker was underground - out of sight out of mind sort of deal with this SHIELD safe house. Four bedrooms - twice more than his actual apartment both in New York and Chicago- though one was set up as a medical quarters just in case something were to happen to either of them. Their command centre from which he came had just a sofa, a table, a chair, all set up opposite those screens he had to keep staring at.

But it lead up to a nice living area. Large, for just the two of them, but then again this place could sleep eight SHIELD agents, ten with the sofa bed. So it would have to be big for comfort. The living area had two three seater sofas - cushioned, leather would be too much to look after. A large coffee table was currently littered with papers that were any kind of profiles they could build on the current members they were watching and mission reports they had to fill in every god damn night. A tv cabinet across from one of the sofa's held the tv and some books underneath. They weren't animals; they needed some entertainment after all, and that would be enough to do the pair of snipers who make a living being bored shitless. To the other side was their kitchen, again large for the amount of people. They kept it well stocked - using one of the escape tunnels every other day to go to the town in order to get supplies without being spotted in the open.

It was a nice place, it really was, but it was starting to get on Clint's last nerve.

After 12 hours in that small space his mind really was needing rest, so Clint crossed the sitting area to the hall way the lay directly opposite the stair case. It went to the bedrooms, where he would stay for as many of the next 12 hours as he possibly could. His room sat at the very end of the hall way - opposite the med room because they knew it would be his ass needing that short distance and not Bucky's. The bedrooms were big enough for a double bed, a dresser, and that was enough.

When he got into his room he wasted no time in stripping down. While he was annoyed, while the frown was constantly set on his face today because he'd actually chop off his arm to have an excuse to get out of this place, he was still respectful in folding up his gear and putting it away in the dresser. There was a history to these robes, a grandeur that went back way before he donned them, and there was no way he'd do anything to give them the disrespect they definitely don't deserve. With his katana safe against the dresser Clint grabbed a towel and made his way to the bathroom.

The camera's those screens were hooked up to spanned the entire perimeter of the warehouse the Circus of Crime called their current headquarters. A two story building in an industrial district that was thriving. A little more inconspicuous than an abandoned one in the middle of no where, he guessed. But still, he'd bet everything he had on there being more to that place. Yet they couldn't get the clearance to just barge in guns blazing. Clint remembered now why he didn't actually miss SHIELD missions - too many rules.

Fury had to be briefed on everything they did. Where they wanted the cameras, how far away they could be, what to look for, what to report, what to go in for, when to wipe their asses, when to sleep, when to shoot their brains out from pure boredom and frustration.

Clint hated it.

He was way too used to the slight bit of freedom the Avengers had to offer. The trust they had to just go along with the idea that something isn't right somewhere, the determination they had to help a team member through whatever crisis they had going on by busting through as many people as they had to in order to get everything back to the balance they're used to.

Sure it got them in trouble more times than not, but at least it got stuff done.

This bureaucracy had him remember exactly why he left - despite the security council saying they kicked him out. Fury would have vetoed that call if Clint hadn't have walked away willingly.

Letting the thoughts fade from his brain Clint sighed and creaked his neck to the side. The slight pop is gave had him groaning. That wasn't good at all.

A shower should do him some good.

The one thing he never really understood was people who had giant bathrooms. You know the ones – a crazy huge bath with a hundred different jet nozzles and fifty different settings to go along, a toilet that self cleaned and sang you a lullaby as you shit, three different sinks for him/her/indifferent. His mind might be exaggerating, but Clint could never understand it.

That's why he liked the little one that was attached to his living quarters. A toilet, a sink, and a shower. All that someone needs and definitely all that he needs to get by.

A shower should do him some good.

Stripped down entirely, he turned on the shower and let the head pump out some water to heat up. He took that moment to go to the sink to shave the stubble that had accumulated over the past few days. When the only sort of human contact you have day in and day out is with someone who holds a scruffier look than you do then personal grooming takes a back seat. But he'd still try, because who knows, some super sexy ninja assassin might come for him and he should look his best to try charm his way out of death.

Halfway through his shave the bathroom started filling with steam, and he glanced up to make sure the little mirror above the sink wasn't steaming up on him. His reflection made him pause and frown. Half his face shaved, the other filled with cream, that wasn't too bad. Scruffy hair, after twelve hours sitting in a tiny room bored shitless, was actually pretty tame right now compared to what it should be. His body though – as his eyes traveled downward – had him stalling.

He always knew the scars were there, he'd see them every day, but lately they had been a reminder of exactly why he was stuck in this situation. The burn marks started halfway down his chest, just below the nipples on his pecks. The bomb that blew him back was set at the handle of his apartment, just around bellybutton height. The heat and shrapnel spread up to his chest and down to his thighs. It left his body burned and shredded and left him in agonising pain for the months after. That required daily bandage changing and that damn cream that he swore was destroying his nerve endings instead of helping fight infection. Even if he was out of hospital in no time at all, that didn't mean he was ok. Whenever he looked at the angry red marks, the tiny little scars that didn't even require stitches but had twisted and scorched metal pulled from them, he felt a pain like no other.

"No super sexy ninja assassin would even look your way." He sighed to himself, tapping his razor on the side of the basin before setting about shaving the rest of his face. "Pretty good face though. Wear a tank top, show off your arms, show off your smile, hide the mess of a chest, you'll get some."

Once in the shower he let his forehead rest against the wall in front of him, so the water hit the top of his head and could travel down his back to ease the muscles there. Tense wasn't even the word for what he felt right now.

His life was falling apart and he had no idea how to hold it together.

_"A bit of duct tape."_

"You really need to get out of my head." He growled under his breath, closing his eyes to try ward off the memories of a life time ago.

_"Duct tape? On a bullet wound? Come on Barton, be realistic here."_

_"I am! Duct tape, I swear, will patch it together."_

_"Just stay under the water to wash it out you idiot."_

_"Next time maybe stock up on med kits."_

_"Next time don't get shot and I won't have to scour the hotel room for shit to put you back together, how about that?"_

_"It's like that country song. Duct tape and WD-40 can fix anything."_

_"Do you have a fever already? Blood loss? Because you can not be thinking of songs at a time like this."_

_"Aw Nat, you worried? Girl, you know your love can fix anything, like duct tape and WD-40."_

_"God I hope this bullet kills you…"_

When he opened his eyes he couldn't stop the smile creeping onto his face. The bullet didn't kill him, but she nearly did while patching it up and he wouldn't have anyone tell him differently. Clint didn't know how long he was lost in his little memory, but it had him feeling a lot lighter. Or maybe the hot water actually worked, either way he straightened himself up and scrubbed himself down.

That mission, the mission before it, the mission after it, the mission two years later were all just missions. Everything that happened on them would be forgiven and forgotten and the world would continue to spin on. It may be stuck underground - leaving him with nothing to do bu plat how to murder the Winter Soldier just for some excitement - but a mission was still a mission.

He couldn't let it get the better of him.

The tension was released from him, for now at least. It left him with a bone deep tiredness that he really didn't think anyone could blame him for having.

This was just another mission, he had to think of it that way. Whatever would come afterwards then he'd deal with it then.

For now though – after drying off – he'd sleep and hope for the best when he'd wake.

He'd sleep and hope that the world will keep spinning.

* * *

Surveillance day 94

The more Clint stared, the more his frown grew. The message, seven simple words, had confused his mind more than it should.

_Phone shut off. Has to be paid._

Phone shut off. He had no idea. It had dawned on him that it meant the main phone line to the bar had been shut off, that it was dead, that was the only phone he figured Mark would mean by the text. But it was all paid by SHIELD, Fury promised him that when he moved there. It should automatically go the phone company, same with the utilities.

Does that mean that electricity and water would go soon too? What about the suppliers, were they being paid so the bar could be stocked? Clint was pretty sure he used to write the cheques for those though. You can get lost in the sheer size of utilities, but small companies who stock craft beer would probably be concerned by some government agency like SHIELD paying for a small bar owners stock.

_Phone shut off. Has to be paid._

There had to be some mistake. Clint's finger found Fury's number in his contact list before he thought better of it. His other hand was messing with the string on his hoodie, a nervous habit.

"I'm not expecting a report until next week, Ronin."

Fury answered the phone in a hush, Clint wondered what the gentleman was doing if he was like that. Where was he? Was he with the Avengers and had to be quiet about it? Was he in a meeting and was worried? Clint had no clue. He found that he didn't really care. He cared right now only about a phone line in Chicago.

"Nick, have the bills been paid?" Clint cut right to it. He turned down the tv from his position on the sofa so he could hear the director clearly.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Fury sighed. Maybe Clint did make him worry that there was something wrong. When he thought about it, yes, an agent calling outside of scheduled time is usually an SOS. Oops.

This could be counted as an SOS though.

"The bar, my apartment, the phone has been cut off."

"You're not there anymore." Fury answered, and that really wasn't an answer at all. Clint frowned. "So all standing orders were cancelled. Why would I pay for a safe house that isn't being used?"

"But it is being used." A pause. Fury wanted Clint to elaborate. "You took me from the place with no notice, Nick. There's people there."

"That's not my problem."

"But it is mine!" Clint snapped. He thought better of himself, took a steadying breath, and reminded himself that this is still his boss he was speaking with. "Sir, listen, I couldn't leave people without jobs. It's still open and running and has two awesome people looking after it."

"Then get them to pay the bills, Barton. Report at sixteen hundred this day week."

"Wait, Fury, listen!" Clint yelled down the receiver to keep the mans attention. When he didn't hear the call ended tone Clint sighed in relief. His free hand went to his forehead to rub in gentle circles. "They're just kids, Nick. They're these two awesome kids who helped me build that place up from nothing. They need this. I'm asking as a favour, please."

"Barton, you're compromised."

"I honestly don't care anymore if I am." He sighed once more, eyes falling closed. He was only finished his twelve hour shift, he was too tired to think of a good lie right now to tell the man. "You guys left me out here with no contact for months on end. What was I supposed to do?"

"Not find kids to adopt on a mission, that's what."

"It wasn't a mission and you know it. I was thrown out there so I wouldn't be a liability, so whoever came after me wouldn't go after the others because god forbid they get hurt. Never mind taking my life away from me, no, once all your golden boys are safe then Clint's life is worth throwing away. I made do, I made friends, I made a damn good living. All I'm asking for is a little help Nick. That's all."

Another pause. Clint was sure that during his rant Fury had actually hung up and he was just too into it to hear the click of a hang up. Just as he was about to check that the call was still connected, Fury spoke up.

"I'll sort it." Fury was always short with his answers, but it was enough for Clint. "We will discuss further after this mission though."

"Thank you, sir." Clint sighed in relief, his shoulders sagging. At least that was one less thing to worry about. "Sixteen hundred, this day week. Will report."

The other man hung up and Clint took a moment before sending a reply back to Mark. It was the first message he had received from the other male, from either of them. He wanted to know how they were, how the bar was getting on, how Ellen was handling everything, if she was ok with how they left things, if either of them missed him just as much as he missed them.

So much he wanted to send back, but he didn't.

_'Sorted. My mistake. –C'_  was all he could muster.

There was no way to juggle these two lives like he wanted to, was there?

* * *

Surveillance day 107

"What do you do during your twelve hours of freedom?"

"What? When you play solitaire instead of watching the monitors?"

"Ok that was one time, I said sorry!" Clint rolled his head to look at Barnes, who was sitting on the chair at the little table with his eyes on the monitors.

He had brought the soldier down some coffee. It was only four hours into Bucky's twelve hour shift, and sure Clint wanted to be asleep, but a nightmare had him wanting company. Right now, even though he was quietly watching the screens and scribbling down the notes of the people who come and go at which times, Bucky was his best and only chance at that.

"Well? What do you do? Stark and I reckon you don't sleep."

"Sometimes I don't, like you right now." Barnes said quietly. Clint scowled a little at the reminder and rolled his head back to the monitors. The sofa was lumpy on his back as he lay there - hand behind his head to act as a pillow - but it was lumpy in all the right places so he wouldn't complain. "But only my arm is a robot, Clint. The rest isn't."

"I think Tony is a robot." Clint muttered around the rim of his coffee mug, a small chuckle from Barnes was a welcome sound as Clint took a sip. "Functions off coffee and music like a robot functions off oil and electricity."

"Steve kept him off coffee for all of two days a little while ago." Barnes offered quietly, Clint's head rolled to the side to see the other man grinning to himself. "You'd swear it was the end of the world. We found him in that coffee place you like the block over – that 24 hour one – chugging the stuff after the second day."

"Pep's idea?"

"Of course it was." Bucky chuckled. Clint smiled a little and looked back to the screens. He heard the pen scribbling just as burly guy walked into frame and towards the door of the warehouse. "I think she was sick of her fiancé being up all night."

Silence then. They spoke about the team very rarely, Clint wasn't sure which one of them made the unspoken rule but when it got on to topics Clint was upset about then both of them would just drop the topic entirely. Missing the engagement and wedding planning of two of his best friends because he was technically dead was definitely one of the more sore subjects. Especially since it was Clint and Natasha who helped Tony get over himself enough to even think of proposing.

"I watch tv." Clint said after the silence stretched to an uncomfortable length. No more movement on screen though, it was an early morning hour so he didn't really expect much. His log sheet was always a lot busier than Bucky's.

"I know." Barnes replied. Something in his tone had Clint looking at him once more to find a smirk plastered on his face. "You always leave Netflix open. Just how much Bake Off have you watched on the thing?"

"Alright don't tease! Better than that prison stuff you watch!" Clint laughed, swinging his legs so he could sit up properly on the sofa.

"Natasha got me into that. She watches way too much of the stuff. The serial killer stuff too, though that's a little much for me."

Sounds like her alright. Clint frowned a little at the cup held between his hands, empty now though still slightly warm. Whenever he'd suggest relaxing in bed with some Netflix (the phrase 'Netflix and Chill' was banned from all Avengers meeting places after so many jokes from Tony) then he'd be up all night thinking that every little sound was someone coming to kill them with a chainsaw or toothpick while Natasha slept peacefully beside him.

"Ellen watches the Bake Off stuff." Clint said quietly, trying to get off the topic coming up between them. "If it's on tv then you better not even think of changing it. Someone in the bar complained about it being on the big screen once, but it was the only way I could get her to work."

"Doesn't sound like you have much control there, Barton."

"Oh I know I don't. Boss by name, not by practice." He laughed. He leaned back into the sofa once more to watch Bucky as they spoke. "I learned that long ago."

"She's way too young for you though." Barnes hummed in thought, his hand actually stroking his beard too. The pen he held was tapping against the table and Clint was struggling to place the tune. "I thought if you were going to go for someone then she'd at least be old enough not to be your daughter."

"Idiot, she's just working for me." Clint shook his head. "Besides, she's taken."

"Besides?" Barnes asked with that teasing tone back on, only glancing Clint's way for a second. "That mean if she wasn't you'd go for it? Dirty old man."

"I liked you better when you were in your quiet scared phase." He laughed. He'd take pride in the slight pinkness that came to Barnes' cheek.

"Just working for you?" Bucky said when the silence went on for a bit. Clint was busy watching a bird hop across the screen, he thought maybe Barnes was doing the same though he doubted Barnes had the little guy named and already had a connection to it. "Nothing more?"

"What's with the third degree?" Clint raised an eyebrow. He looked at Bucky in enough time to see him shrug.

"You went to see them before you left with me." Of course the guy followed Clint, he couldn't expect anything else. "You gave them the bar and your apartment."

"Someone's gotta take care of it." Clint shrugged ever so slightly. "Why not the people who know it just as well as I do?"

"So if this is all a success, if we get these guys taken down and you're in the clear, what would you do?"

Loaded question. Clint stared at the mug in his hands. That had been a question he'd been mulling over in his head since they got here and still there was no clear answer.

"Would you go back there to your bar and your guitar and live a quiet life? Go to your new friends?"

"Where's this coming from, man?" Clint asked quietly. The spot behind his right eye started thumping, a migraine starting at all the emotions this was bringing up.

"Just curious, gotta know what to tell the team I suppose." Ouch. Was he really going to tell them all this? "We need you, Clint. I don't want you thinking your life isn't worth as much as any of ours."

_Wait._

He looked up to Bucky and frowned, the other mans eyes still on those damn screens though.

"You listened to my call?"

"You were shouting." Bucky simply stated, not even a flinch or a pause after being found out. "Hard not to listen, really."

"Just drop it." Clint muttered under his breath, deflating slightly.

Clint left it at that, because Barnes could make whatever judgement he wanted from what he heard. Maybe he did think that Clint would run away from them if all of this got sorted here and now, but honestly Clint didn't even know what to do right now. It hurt his head every time it popped up because there was just no way for him to think of any life that's different from the one he'd carved for himself since the explosion.

"I don't think you've asked about her once since we've been here." Barnes went on when the silence stretched once more. Seems like this time they weren't dropping it. But this was the conversation from before, and it was definitely one that Clint didn't want to have right now.

"More coffee?" Clint asked instead, standing to go take the mans empty mug.

"She's doing well, just so you know." Dammit Barnes, he definitely didn't want to be discussing this. "Kate as well, don't know how I'll tell her that Ellen took her place. The pair of them are kicking some serious ass together."

"Hawkeye and Black Widow are the most feared team in the world." Barton muttered as he turned to leave the room. "Better than whatever the fuck Winter Soldier and Ronin are doing anyway."

"They're kicking ass at a surveillance mission." Barnes called when Clint was halfway up the stairs.

"Keep me cooped up much more and I'll kick some ass alright! Hope your arm can handle a sword stabbed through it!"

* * *

Surveillance day 146

When you were a kid there were some toys that you would be given. If you were a girl it was probably a doll, a baby, a dress up set, all the pink and sparkly because that's what they're seen as. If you were a guy it was toy soldiers, some trucks, some hot wheels, all rugged and dirty because that's what they're seen as.

When you were a kid you probably weren't given a sword or bow and arrows to practice with in order to make some money for a circus you had run away to in order to escape abusive foster homes.

As an adult you probably weren't even in the vicinity of these objects.

But here Clint Barton was – in the small command room that he had dubbed his prison cell, katana in hand, trying to keep himself sane in the only way he knows how.

People see this as a tool, as a weapon, as something that can cause damage and murder. Something that is seen in movies, wielded by knights on horseback or ninja in some old Japanese movie. They think of amazing fight scenes filled with flips and jumps onto walls, of some amazing hand work that sees the wielder throwing the blade behind him, switching between his hands ten different times before landing one fatal blow to take down the evil villain who couldn't even lay a single stroke on the main hero.

That's not what a swordsman views his blade as. Clint was the katana, and the katana was Clint.

Clint smirked a little at that thought, shaking his head at just how corny it sounded as he impaled an imaginary foe with the tip of his blade.

He made sure that his full Ronin gear was on just to see how well he could still fight in this get up. So far the evil forced of the El Commando Centre Organisation were falling to his expertly placed strikes just as the guys in the movies would. Clint always dreams that enemies were this easy, it made his life a little easier to handle.

With both hands on the hilt Clint pulled the blade from the imaginary foe, on the balls of his feet he turned and slashed out at the enemy behind him. His right hand was extended with the blade, his left held behind his back to keep his balance steady.

It wasn't simply a tool. A sword in the hands of a swordsman was an extension of himself. It was a tool to anyone else, but in the hands of a swordsman who worships every single little grain of metal that belonged to its blade a sword was part of him. In the hands of a swordsman it was the most versatile of weapons, and the most trustworthy of comrades to have in battle.

Clint couldn't hold back the grin when he wielded it. It had been too long, and while his heart always belonged to the bow and arrow that saw him through many years; the sword, and in particular this katana, had a special spot in the ol' ticker of his.

Clint's senses flared slightly. Someone was watching now, and it had him dipping his swords tip slightly to focus. Thank god what he feared would happen didn't in the end. During his time away he thought all his senses would dull and he'd be useless – but habits he had built up like that for years before any of this happened seemed to be pretty impossible to break. As soon as he stepped back into mission mode all of those little elements came sweeping back.

He knew this presence though – the quiet presence that left a heavy feeling in the air, a dangerous feeling. He couldn't shake it, from what he knew Natasha couldn't either. The Winter Soldier presence was forever one of danger for them, even if he was now just James Buchanan Barnes.

"Twelve hours up already?" Clint asked, confused. He carefully slid the blade back into it's scabbard then turned to see a slightly frowning Bucky standing in the doorway.

One of those nights then.

Clint took off the mask and removed his kimono to be a little more comfortable, going then to place the Katana on the desk. Barnes always frond it a little better if there was no one with weapons around him when he had a bad night. Clint gave a slight nod to the sofa in the room and Barnes went over to sit stiffly down on it.

He was in his pyjama's, nice enough to throw some pants on as well as his t-shirt before wandering down to Clint. Seeing him in his boxers wasn't really what Clint wanted, that was more Steve's stick.

_Speaking of._

"Want me to call Steve?" Clint asked carefully, crossing to the mini fridge they had in the corner for shift supplies to pull out two cans of beer for the pair. He tossed one Bucky's way and he was glad to find the guy was in enough of a right mind to easily catch it.

"Think that would freak the guy out." Bucky chuckled weakly. Clint smirked and shrugged, hopping up to sit on the table to face Barnes as they opened their cans. "He doesn't even know where I am right now. He's been asking a lot, but I can never lie to him so it's better to just not say."

"But he knows you're gone, and been gone for a while, and since he hasn't broken down this bunker yet after following whatever tracker he post-coitus planted in you then I'd say he knows it's an important mission."

Barnes' eyebrows knitted together in confusion, and Clint raised one of his in question as he took a sip of his beer.

"He has a tracker in me?"

"I knew you two were fucking!" Clint laughed, jumping on the table like a giddy child. Bucky gave him that smile that meant something was wrong. Clint paused. "What?"

"Team's known for a while, man."

"Of course they have." Clint sighed. He shook his head of it though, because yeah he missed some stuff, he had to get over it. He sipped his beer once more and nodded Bucky's way. "We're off topic. What's up?"

Clint waited. While Barnes stared down at the can held between his hands, thumb flicking the tab that had opened it for him. Clint waited, because that's all he could do for the man right now.

Every few seconds he'd spare a glance at the screens, because they were still in surveillance of this place and when Bucky came back to himself he'd probably stab Clint for slacking if he didn't.

"You were Ronin for a while, right?" Barnes started. Clint nodded, staying quiet to let him continue. "Then Hawkeye, and Agent, and Avenger and-"

"Hawkeye, Ronin, Hawkeye." Clint corrected. There was no need to, looking at the confusion on Bucky's face, but he had a feeling where this was going and he had to clarify that.

"You've done a lot, is the point." Bucky said carefully, finally looking up at Clint. "That's why sometimes you can't sleep at night-" Clint nodded "and why sometimes I hear you screaming upstairs-" Clint nodded a little slower, he didn't realise the nightmares here had been that bad "so it was a lot of bad stuff."

"A fair bit of bad stuff." Clint shrugged, another swig of his beer, he needed something stronger when Barnes was in one of these moods though.

"When I came to the tower first I never asked, and I should have, how do you deal with it?"

Silence.

Loaded question. Was there really an answer to that? Was he dealing with it? He doesn't sleep some nights, he has nightmares, he has flashbacks, he sometimes falls apart so much that it takes weeks for him to feel like anything in life will feel right again.

But then sometimes he smiles, he laughs, he jokes, he drinks, he dances, he sings. He goes out walking and running, he goes shopping, he watches tv, he hangs out with friends.

"You focus on the good things." Clint started without thinking, smiling softly at the thought of all the drinking nights trying to get Tony under the table. The days he'd sit playing video games with Thor. Shooting with Kate, painting with Steve, baking with Sam, sleeping in with- "Make sure they outweigh the bad."

"I have a lot of years of bad, Barton." Bucky's laugh was humourless, dry, and Clint frowned.

"Y'know, when Steve came out of the ice and after everything settled down with the Avengers we'd hang out a lot." Clint wasn't sure where this was going, and his mind was screaming at him to stop thinking of these kinds of memories not let alone talk about them, but Barnes looked so dejected sitting there that he had to try something. "He told me once that when you two were young there was some dance hall you'd go to. 'Dames', such an old school word, they'd ignore Steve and always go for you and-"

"He was a skinny little punk." Whatever Clint was planning it seemed to be working. Sure Bucky was still keeping his eyes on his can, but there was a fond smile on his face, his eyes a little clearer now. "They wouldn't ignore him – ok maybe they would – but he wouldn't go anywhere near them."

"Ok." Clint laughed, shaking his head a little. The monitors flashed a slight red, movement detected, but this was a little more important than checking which idiot was going in. "But one day you taught him how to dance, in your apartment. But you guys didn't have a radio or anything so-"

"Way too expensive." Bucky sighed. He moved from his hunched over position to instead lean back into the sofa. He was more relaxed now, Clint's job was done, but he wouldn't stop talking because it was a nice difference. "I'd work, yeah, every hour I could. But it was hard times, you know? And there was my ma and sister to support too. And Steve – man he was bad. So damn sick all the time. So we had a little space one of the guys on the yard rented us. Steve tried help, he did, but who would hire him really?"

This was a full blown rant now. Clint stayed quiet, stayed interested, because this really wasn't a side of Barnes he saw all that often.

"So yeah." He sighed, running a hand through his greasy hair. "The dance hall was fun, and man those girls were great they really were. But it was a different time, a different place, and dancing with a man? You'd get killed for that kind of stuff, Barton. But in the privacy of our little kitchen, teaching him to dance was the perfect excuse."

"You old romantic." Clint grinned. While it was sweet, and it was Bucky's way of getting over whatever mood he was in, this was absolutely material he would use to black mail in the future. Though Barnes shot him a grin right back.

"You never hear the stories of the ladies man known as James Barnes? He was a legend in Brooklyn."

"And now?" Clint pushed. Bucky's metal arm twitched just the slightest, the only way Clint ever knew that he had a bad hand during poker.

The silence stretched for a couple of moments, enough time for Clint to down the last of his drink, before Bucky spoke a lot quieter than before, eyes downcast once more.

"I don't know what I am." Barnes shrugged. Clint frowned slightly.

"Have you talked to Steve lately?" Clint pushed once more. His mood had been fine the past couple of weeks, the only other incident like this was when Steve was off the grid for a while helping with a situation Clint wasn't allowed know about because 'clearance'.

"We, well.." He was stammering, mouth twitching slightly like he was looking for the words he couldn't find. Eventually he sighed, but Clint beat him to it.

"How bad was it? The fight?" Clint usually heard the quiet murmurings while sitting up stairs, the laughs, the occasional crying that he ignored entirely.

But thinking on it now it had been a while since there's been any of that.

"Bad enough."

"Everything can be taken back." Clint smiled. There was no way something bad enough was said to make Steve dislike Barnes in even the slightest.

"I don't know." Bucky sighed, putting the can down on the floor so he could put both hands on top of his head. Leaned back on the sofa he was a little more open than usual. Usually a sign to Clint that the person in that position wanted someone in, and if it was true for one it was usually true for everyone. "It's been a week, Clint. Not even a text."

"Ever think he might be busy being Captain America?"

"He would tell me if he was on mission. Even if I did end it all he'd-" Bucky's mouth shut with a slight clicking sound. Clint smiled a little sadly.

"That's a little more difficult to take back, I suppose." Clint said softly, Barnes groaned and nodded minutely, hands moving from the top of his head to instead cover his eyes. "A lot going on in that mind today, huh?"

"Every day." Bucky murmured. "Killing, brainwashing, war, Steve. It's all going crazy in there tonight though."

"Call him." Clint shrugged, Bucky looked to him and frowned though. "Look, if it'll get him out of your mind, then call him. Apologise. You guys have been through worse. For god's sake Barnes, you tried kill him and – ok bad call." Clint held up his hands when Bucky growled. Maybe not the best memory to use.

"Point is, love is stronger than some little spat between lovers. You have to believe that." He continued, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He started dialing the familiar number. Bucky jumped up a little when he realised what was happening. "It's no use talking to me about all of this. I'm not the one you want in bed, or at least I hope not cause that greasy haired sulky look brings back shit for me so not into it."

"I don't want to talk to him, Clint." Barnes pushed, but Clint ignored him and pressed the dial button.

"I will then. I'll blow this whole operation, let him know I'm alive, just to let him know you're sorry as well – oh." He paused, Steve's curious 'Hello?' through the receiver surprising him.

Barnes took the bait just before Clint went to hang up. As if he'd actually break news like that to his Captain over the phone randomly one night. Barnes took it though, jumped up from the sofa and ripped the phone from Clint's hand before he could speak.

"Steve?" Bucky said quietly once the phone was to his ear, and whatever Steve said back had Bucky's shoulders sagging slightly in relief. "Good to hear yours too…"

Clint smiled and reached up and turned off his aids to give the pair some privacy. He turned then to watch the screens that were to his side while they were having the conversation, catching a glimpse of a car leaving the building.

That was new. He should note that.

But for now he just tried get the fact that he was so close to talking to one of his closest friends again out of his head because his heart hurt too much from it.

The sooner this mission was over and he could go back to those friends of his the better.

Which set of friends he was talking about, he didn't know.

He missed all of them.

He couldn't help but wonder if any of them missed him.


	6. Chapter 6

"That's different."

Clint glanced to the screen at Bucky's words. He kept his hand hidden still though, in case it was a trick by the man to see what cards he held. Nothing really, he was rapidly losing this poker game, but that didn't mean he couldn't try.

There was a car pulling up on the screen, just outside the doors to the compound. Clint remembers it. A black sedan, nothing special he thought. Just dropping off supplies. He marked it once before, but this was only the second time he's seen it.

He shrugged and looked back at his cards.

"That's in one of my reports." He said flippantly, throwing three cards down to pick up three new ones. Still nothing.

"What?" Clint looked up at Barnes' sharp words, frowning slightly. He was scowling at the monitors rather than Clint so he'd take that as a win. "I don't remember seeing anything on this."

Clint cocked his head slightly, looking back to the screen again. He was positive he did. He saw it pulling away one time; he was going to mark it. He would have in his report, but that was a messy day and -  _oh, yeah, Bucky's freak out night..._

"I guess I forgot." He shrugged again, realising what happened. "Sorry man."

"Clint this is new, no one ever drives up there." From his peripheral Clint saw Bucky put down his cards and walk over to the monitors lining the wall. He decided to follow suit and do the same, crossing his arms over his chest to watch the action.

A gentleman got out of the drivers seat, dressed in a suit. Nothing special about him, Clint remarked, other than what looked like one hell of a comb over on the grainy footage.

The man went around to the side of the car that was blocked from view. Clint frowned slightly as he noticed the door of the warehouse open, two of the men they've had under surveillance standing there almost as if at attention.

"This is definitely different." Clint muttered more to himself than to Barnes, though he did notice the man beside him nod. More often than not whoever was going in would just enter, only met by someone if they needed a hand in with supplies.

Someone got out of the car – who Clint couldn't tell yet. While the cameras were good they were still pretty far away from any of the perimeter, they would have definitely been noticed if they did get too close. All Clint could make out was a tall man, some kind of bowler or flat cap on his head, a long coat on to ward away whatever bit of chill the night air held.

He walked the couple of steps to the warehouse door with a confidence Clint hasn't seen anyone carry in a long while. Shaking the other two men's hands, they all disappeared inside, leaving the driver of the car standing there waiting outside.

The new man - though important enough to be greeted at the door - turned just the slightest to close the door himself. Clint swore that the man looked directly into their closest camera.

One sight in that moment had Clint's breath leaving him. Before the door closed the light provided just enough definition to make out the man's face.

Or rather, something covering it. Something Clint hasn't seen in a long time.

"Jacques..." Clint whispered through the breath that was knocked out of him, feeling suddenly faint.

This was their guy.

Maybe not the head guy. Probably not the head guy, he couldn't be, he might be, Clint didn't know anymore.

Jacques was here...

Maybe - just maybe - after losing Carson's he took control of these guys to continue with his missions. Clint felt bile threaten to rise at the thought.

Jacques shouldn't be here...

Clint's mind couldn't comprehend anything right now other than the fact he really needed some fucking air and oh god why were his lungs burning so much?  _Breathe in and out, come on you remember how to do this right? Just simple, fill your lungs, nope that hurts. Brain is fuzzy._  Images of his childhood springing forward, of all the times he saw that mask hovering over him after a beating, trying his best to be more than enough for the man behind him so that he could keep his life as it was, so he always had somewhere to stay, it was never enough...  _God how do you breathe again?_

His mind was clear enough to know one thing.

With a lick of his dry lips, without realising what his own body was even doing anymore, Clint turned from the screens and grabbed his cowl from the desk.

Jacques was here. Jacques was trying to kill him. And he couldn't handle that.

Jacques Duquesne was the one demon Clint could never shake. He was the one who took him in, gained his trust, mentored him, raised him, fathered him, then left him for dead in the middle of nowhere for no good reason.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't defeat Jacques. The only thing to do was to turn tail and run, run far away somewhere. Chicago? He couldn't put his friends there at risk. _Oh god you already put them at risk. What if he found them already? No, he thinks you're dead Clint._

"Clint!"

He ignored his name being called, coming back to himself just long enough to realise he was walking the stairs back to the living area. _Where are you going again?_

_He thinks you're dead Clint, maybe that's good. Start somewhere new, change your name, change your look, leave the fucking country you idiot, he'll kill all of them if he finds out and-_

"Clint! Stop for a minute!"

He only did because a solid hand wrapped around his wrist. How had Jacques got in here so quick!? It was a 15 minute walk from here to their base. Did he already have their cameras on a loop to trick them?

His breath still wasn't going into his lungs; at least it didn't feel like it. The living room around him was starting to spin as he figured this out. Jacques had his wrist, but Clint had his sword, and in an instant it was drawn from its housing. On the balls of his feet Clint turned and swung the blade, stopping just short of slicing his attacker's neck.

A different pair of eyes met him, not the ones that haunted him. No. Cool grey, calm and collected even in the face of danger. They stared into Clint's until his mind found the name he was looking for. James. Barnes. Bucky.

Slowly the pressure on Clint's trapped wrist let up, and he let his eyes waver from Barnes' just long enough to note his hands being raised in surrender. He didn't move his blade just yet, kept the pressure just enough to nick the skin of the assassin.

Assassin.

They were both out to get him.

"You called him, didn't you?" Clint growled between his teeth. Maybe he growled, maybe it was a breathless huff, he couldn't tell anymore. "You brought him to help finish me off!"

Bucky was good at giving nothing away. He was trained for this, right? Trained to make sure that a confused look crossed his eyes. Natasha was a master at it, at trapping her mark with body language, at hiding everything and showing something completely different in her features. Barnes was the Winter Soldier. Clint was beating himself up for forgetting that.

"Barton, take a breath and talk to me." He said carefully. Clint shook his head, taking a step closer to the man. Barnes didn't even flinch when the blade sliced a little more into his skin at the movement. "What's happening?"

"Don't." Clint said. He coked his head to the side a little to gauge any weakness in the man's mask. "They're controlling you, right? Jacques and the circus? Why else would you have brought me here?"

"Because I needed help." Bucky - the Soldier, not Bucky - replied. Clint narrowed his eyes. "I don't know who you're talking about Clint. But how about you put the weapon down and we'll figure it out."

"Put it down?" Clint scoffed. "So you can kill me?"

"If I wanted you dead you'd be dead long ago, you know that."

Clint didn't know what he's supposed to know anymore. He's supposed to be losing poker, he's supposed to be joking with this man, he's supposed to be in Chicago pouring some cocktails and singing, he's supposed to be in his apartment, he's supposed to be wrapped up in bed with Natasha after a long night of being fancy and nice, he's supposed to be fighting, he's supposed to be helping Loki, he's supposed to be on a mission.

He's supposed to be dead.

Everytime he thought he knew something another issue would present itself and make him question everything. Exactly like now.

What's he supposed to know anymore?

"You with me?" The soft words snapped him from his thoughts. His hand had lowered, the blade now pointing down toward the ground, and he wasn't sure that he had the strength anymore to raise it.

"We're on surveillance; we can't do anything without permission." He was still speaking soft, kind, something Clint didn't associate with assassins. "Talk to me; what's happening?"

_Talk to him. Yeah, you can do that right?_

He opened his mouth a couple of times but nothing came out, the only sound was some kind of vibration in his head that was getting louder and louder and -

It was burning, he was burning, this wasn't right. He couldn't get the breath into his lungs, it wasn't going around his body, the smoke was taking over and not letting any oxygen in, he was dead and no one would find him lying on the floor of this damn apartment building because who would be looking for him anyway? Who would give a shit that he was burned to a crisp and no longer part of the world?

"Hey." No one could be here, he was imaging that word, because there were still too many flames. Jacques had him blown up, he took Clint's life, this was it, he finally won and there was nothing left. From his position on the floor, knees stinging and hand still clutching his chest, he looked into the flames to see the outline of a face.

Impossible. Another attempt at a deep breath, instead of smoke he felt a bit of relieve rush through his entire body. His eyes cleared enough to see Bucky kneeling in front of him, hands gripping Clint's shoulders firmly.

Clint could safely say he had never seen the look of concern on Barnes' face before. It was unnerving, but he suddenly had no energy to care.

"Clint, you with me?" He asked softly.

Was he? Clint couldn't tell.

He looked around and sure enough he wasn't in the apartment building, he was in the damn living room of the damn compound he had been trapped in. Clint didn't know what the worst option right now was.

He wasn't sure when he sank to his knees, but he was there with his hands clutching his chest like a lifeline. He nodded to answer Bucky's question, locking on to the man's eyes. Panic attack is the word that suddenly flashed across his mind, and given the events of the past few months cooped up in here who could blame him?

His hands were still clutching his chest, he knew that much, but the burning was easing up. He couldn't let go yet, he needed to know it was all ok, that the flames were gone. He just stayed locked on with Bucky's eyes to keep himself grounded.

"Small breaths, ok?" Barnes went on, his grip tightening a little. He's been through this before, Clint realised. Knowing exactly what Clint would need to bring him back around. "Then we'll get you up, but I can't have you passing out on me."

"This is the part in stories where we'd kiss." He said at an attempt to joke, his mouth was dry which made it come out strained, but he hoped it worked. This panic, this fear, it came from such a deeply rooted childhood place that he felt ashamed to have it surface now. He was a grown ass adult years out from his shit stain childhood, this stuff shouldn't bother him like this.

"Too bad you aren't my type." Barnes replied, Clint wanted to believe there was somewhat of a chuckle in those words. He would ignore the relief that swept across the other man though. He stood and watched Clint, and he was grateful that he didn't just baby him by picking him up.

"Handsome isn't your type?" He went to stand up, taking his time because he knew he'd fall flat on his ass it he rushed it after an episode. Bucky laughed and shook his head, forced but Clint would take it.

"Idiots aren't my type."

"Rude." Clint muttered. He dusted off the knees of his suit, suddenly feeling way too constricted in it. Bucky's hand landed on his shoulder once more, squeezing gently.

"Go get changed, we're done for the day." He said sternly. "We'll have some tea before sorting all this out, ok?"

"Nat taught you this, huh?" Clint smiled a little, this technique of dealing with panic attacks and flashbacks feeling way too familiar.

Bucky shrugged with a small grin.

"You're not the only one who has attacks. We've all had to be pulled from them." Clint was shoved towards the hall way that leads to their rooms, almost tripping over his feet at the suddenness of it. He looked to Bucky with a confused frown. "Out of your gear, have a shower. We'll put your baking shit on Netflix."

"Netflix and chill? Bucky you charmer." Clint wasn't really feeling any better yet, but he was through the worst of it and he'd try joke if it would get Bucky to leave him alone. Barnes flipped him the bird and went towards the kitchen, so Clint took the man's advice and made his way to his room.

This was going to be a long night, and Clint didn't know if his mind was ready for it.

But a fucked up soldier helping out a fucked up archer seemed to be the best way to get through it all.

* * *

The mug was keeping his hands warm, that's about all it was good for he reckoned. He was never much of a tea drinker, coffee being his hot beverage of choice. Natasha tried get him into it a few times, mostly when he was sick. He could never put up a fight then.

Good for the nerves, she'd say. Antioxidants, good chemicals, some voodoo shit. Honestly; if he had any kinds of nerves it would be a very strong kind of oxidant he'd be reaching for instead.

Right now he'd murder a whiskey. But when the Winter Soldier sits your ass down on a sofa and hands you a mug of tea you drink the fucking tea and don't question anything - including why he seemed to have it so easily to hand.

He had lost all interest in what was on the TV. A side effect he always had after panic attacks - wanting nothing more than to curl up and block everything out from his system. Sensory overload he thinks it was called. He googled it late one night when there was no way for him to get out of the bed without waking Natasha. So instead he kept his eyes on the steam rising from the freshest cup of tea that Bucky had handed him a moment ago before taking his place on the other end of the sofa Clint was currently on.

2 hours and 27 minutes after he had come out of the bedroom in some lounge gear Bucky finally broached the question.

"What are we looking at?"

"Some baking show." Clint shrugged, voice quiet, eyes not leaving the mug. "Could put on some comedy if you want?"

"Not what I mean, Barton."

"I know." He sighed, leaning back so his back was pressed into the seat cushion. He took a sip of the tea, letting it sting his lip with a slight burn.

He knew exactly what Barnes meant but he just didn't want to acknowledge it was real yet.

"As far as I can see we're dealing with something serious," Barnes went on. Clint closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, because obviously Bucky wasn't good at taking hints so this was going to happen. "Takes a lot to make you panic like that."

"Not really." Clint muttered, shrugging one shoulder. "Once panicked because there was no coffee in the place after being awake for a few days straight."

"That's physical, there's a difference. This was an emotional panic." Clint felt movement and assumed that Barnes had moved to face him, though he wasn't about to open his eyes to check. "So who is this guy?"

"How much do you know about me?" Clint asked, Barnes didn't reply right away. Internally Clint rolled his eyes. "Come on man; if I've read everyone's file already then I'm sure a former assassin with trust issues has definitely read my file from back to front. Multiple times I'd bet too."

"Maybe." Bucky muttered. Clint chuckled and rolled his head to look Bucky's way, the latter sending a frown Clint's way before he sighed. "Ok, yes, I did. But it wasn't just yours."

"No judgement here." Clint waved his hand dismissively. He took another sip of his tea, waiting for Barnes to make the next move.

"I know enough." Bucky finally said, looking away from Clint. Sure his file mightn't have been as fucked up as the Winter Soldiers, but it was a bad read nonetheless.

"The circus I was with," Clint started, looking away from Bucky once more and to the TV. They were trying to make some kind of cookie on screen, even Clint could do that, how is that something to be on a show about? "One of the main guys who trained me was a guy called Jacques Duquesne. Swordsman. Dickbag who I could have done without seeing ever again really."

"That was him going into the compound?" Clint nodded to Bucky's question. "How are you so sure?"

"The mask." Clint sighed. He closed his eyes once more, but that same purple mask was just staring back at him from behind them. "He was never without it. None of us were allowed without or masks or costumes, rule of the circus. I'd bet that he has the same rule for these guys too."

"It's good news if you know who it is, Clint." Clint quickly shook his head at the comment. "Why not? Simple tactics here, Barton. We know how to plan to take them down then and-"

"Can't take him down." Clint muttered. He sat up on the edge of the sofa then, putting the mug of tea on the coffee table so he could lean over with is elbows on his knees. He didn't need to spiral again, he couldn't spiral again, he needed to be in planning mode for Barnes now. "Buck, this guy is the one guy I could never beat. He left me for dead for Christ sake. He doesn't care who he has to go through to get what he wants - he'll be merciless. For fucks sake I thought the man was dead, but he must be like a fucking cockroach. There's no way."

"Hang on." Barnes sighed next to him. Clint's eyes were on the floor but he felt the man move from the area. A rustling behind him in the kitchen area followed, and his head perked up when he heard the clang of some beer bottles. Sure enough a moment later Barnes was in front of him holding an opened bottle of some cheap own brand beer,

Better than nothing.

"What happened to tea being better for nerves?" Clint asked with a smile as he took the beer, instantly taking a solid chug of the liquid because damn he needed it.

"Sometimes demons need a little something stronger to be kicked out." Bucky replied as he sat down, taking a much smaller sip of his own beer. "From what I read you were out of the circus and all before you were even 18?"

"Yes..?" Clint said more a question than an affirmative. His mind was already trying to figure out where Bucky was going. The other man hummed, his flesh hand rubbing the beard on his face as he thought.

"Ronin stint was impressive... But then you joined SHIELD and they turned you into a master assassin - one of the most feared men in the world."

Clint raised an eyebrow Bucky's way. He just sipped from his beer and shrugged at Clint's unasked question.

"I'm just saying, Clint - he left some little undernourished, under trained, under skilled kid for dead. He didn't leave Hawkeye for dead."

"Bucky I-"

"No, don't pull a pity fucking party." Barnes frowned, glancing Clint's way then with a look Clint couldn't quite place. Disgust maybe? Not a Clint though, more at the situation. Clint could lie to himself about that anyway. "You're a god damn Avenger, Barton. You've fought aliens and supervillains. You've defeated robots hell bent on destruction without breaking a sweat. You've been instrumental in taking down one of the largest terrorists organisations in the history of the world. You think some old guy in a mask with a sword can beat you now?"

When he put it like that - no. There was no way, but...

"But this is different." Clint whispered, shaking his head. "This is-"

"Personal, I know." Bucky nodded, smiling then. "But if his go to move is blowing you up then running to hide well then I can't say I fancy his chances against the two of us."

Barnes had a point. Of course he did, Clint was being ridiculous. And maybe when he calms down enough to think back on this whole situation he'll realise that his rational mind was a complete dick bag for fucking off when he needs it the most.

For now though he just nodded, took another swig from his beer, and settled back into the sofa to watch the TV.

"What kind of fucking name is Swordsman anyway?" Barnes muttered, mimicking Clint's posture on the other side of the soda. "I'm changing my name for this op to Riflesman."

* * *

The day after the night before is a saying Clint used often in his life. Usually it meant a bad hangover - lying in bed with a bucket of some kind next to him because any movement would have his stomach coming up. A bruise the size of Texas occupying his back after getting on the wrong side of a thigh toss during sparring again. It was even used after a long -  _long -_ night that had him walking like a cowboy down to breakfast.

He can't say he's ever used it to describe two world renowned and feared assassins sitting at a kitchen table still in pyjamas with some tea in front of them. Yet, here they were.

After spilling everything last night they had decided to forget about life for a while and just be, mindlessly watching baking shows and comedians, drinkingthe last of the beer sitting int heir fridge and just being until his eyes wouldn't open anymore and tiredness stole him away.

Even after everything, it was one of the best sleeps Clint has had in a long time.

The morning saw them waking later than usual, screens off downstairs for the first time in their entire time here because now it was time to plan. Surveillance was done as far as both of them were concerned, but now it was time to convince the boss man about that.

After hashing out the makings of a plan, and arguing about if it was stupid or not for a good hour, they had Fury on speaker phone in the middle of the kitchen table with all the files they had gathered over the past few months surrounding him.

"A sting?"

"A sting."

"What kind of Sting?"

"I don't know, any kind that gets some answers instead of sitting here staring at a screen."

"What Clint means, sir, is we might have a plan that get us inside." Bucky elaborated. Clint held his hands up in surrender when a glare was sent his way. He'd calm down, just so he wouldn't get that glare again.

"I'm listening, Barnes." Fury said, calm as ever. That man was used to Clint's outburst after so many years. Honestly he was used to worse.

"There's a new player in the field." Bucky started. Clint looked down to the picture that way printed from the earlier surveillance tapes. The folder it was paper clipped to labelled 'the one' because both men were convinced that Jacques was their man. If not, the he was the one who could direct them there.

"He showed up approximately twenty hours ago. He was the only one who was greeted at the door; all the others would just walk in. I think he was visiting to check on things. We have no proof if he has left yet. Given the heist last week that took out that diamond reserve, we think they're escalating, sir."

"And you want to do what, exactly?"

"Upgrade, sir." Clint picked up. Barnes allowed it. This was Clint's fight, and they eventually agreed whatever happened it was his mission now to command and orchestrate. "From surveillance to recon."

A pause. Fury was thinking it over. If he was positive about a plan working then he'd say yes, if he was uncertain he'd say no. But he paused, Clint wasn't pleading his case right.

They knew who it was. There was no denying that, the photo of that arrogant son of a bitch was staring right at Clint from the table. But they couldn't tell Fury. If he knew then Clint would be pulled out straight away. The man knew Clint's history here, there was no way he was being told who their target was. So Barton knew he was trying to weigh up if one unknown man was enough to change a mission or not.

Their guts said it was, they hoped Fury's would too. Fury should know that regardless of his answer they were going in, that this call was just a formality for their paperwork, and it was either help them or let them do it the hard way.

Clint likes to think that his mind is exactly like Fury's, and a small smile crept onto his face when Fury sighed on the other end just as Clint had finished going through the rational of the idea in his own mind.

"Mission is upgraded. Recon from here on out. What do you need?"

"Not much, Sir." Barnes replied, throwing a pen at Clint who was pumping his arms in the air in celebration. He was finally getting to do something and that had him so damn happy. "We need a single strike team."

"You're sending my men in?" Fury asked carefully. No, not at all, this was Clint's fight.

"No sir." Clint picked up, leaning over so he could be heard a little better. They had gone over this plan for an hour before finally deciding to call Fury, because never let it be said that this team was unprepared. "I'm going in. We need the Strike team as a distraction."

"Give me a plan Barton, I don't care about anything else."

"Rude." Clint muttered, a growled 'Barton' from the phone had him stopping the next smart arse comment that was about to leave his mouth though. "We have a target in mind, sir. We call her 'Female two'. Smaller of the females we've seen go in and out and-"

"We both know size has nothing to do with skill, Barton."

"We know." Barnes jumped in. Clint's innuendo joke was just on the tip of his tongue and he didn't like that Barnes could read that so easily. "That's not the plan. We need Strike Team Echo to fake taking her out though."

"Fake." Fury tested the word then sighed. "These guys are some of the highest skilled agents in SHIELD and you want them to fake it?"

"Yes please." Clint nodded. "If the circus knows as much as you think they know then they'll know exactly how skilled these guys are. Tell them to put up a fight, but when I come in to save her then tell them to take the hits and go down. I need someone to trust me, and she's one of the ones who are in and out most frequently. She's my in, boss."

"And if she's skilled enough to take out the Strike team?"

"Then I'll hand her a recruitment form, sir."

"Don't even joke, Barton." Fury sighed, and Clint grinned. "Still living with the headache you gave me when you walked in with Widow."

"Point is, sir." Barnes cut in. Kill joy. "We just need this one thing then we can take it from there. If Ronin gains her trust then hopefully he'll have an in. If not, we'll figure it out. We'll keep them meeting until he does get the invite in. From there it will be full recon work inside."

"Sounds like a lot of if's, Barnes."

"At least we have a plan." Barton replied. "Be proud of me for that?"

"Message me a time and location you need them for, Barnes." Fury ignored Clint's comment. He wouldn't be sad about that, he knows Fury loves him. "If this doesn't work then you're back in surveillance mode until a proper lead comes up, understood?"

"Understood, sir." Barnes replied, and it was quickly followed by a click of a phone hanging up. Bucky looked to Clint with a frown. "Can you not act serious for five minutes? Really?"

"Nope!" Clint grinned. "Fury's used to it, Buck. If he really didn't like it then I'd be fired right now."

"I'm a good person…" Barnes muttered under his breath as he pushed away from the table and stood. Clint watched him with an eyebrow raised. "Must not kill the idiot."

"Funny." Barton deadpanned, going back to the files to clean them up as Barnes moved towards the stairs to the control room. "I know you love me, Buck! I know you watch me while I sleep!"

"Whatever gets you through those lonely nights, Barton!" Barnes called back from the stair case.

Clint's eyes lingered on the photo of the man they were about to take down, staring into the eyes that were looking straight into the camera.

Haunting, pulling on Clint's deepest memories and fears. A feeling different from what he expected though, he couldn't place his finger on it.

Before the thoughts could take over he slid the photo back into the files and stood to go get ready.

He had an operation to perform. Finally some action.


	7. Chapter 7

"Comm check."

"Roger Winter, comm check."

"Roger Ronin."

"See, I can be serious."

"Not the time, Barton!"

Clint smirked to himself. Finally being out of that bunker had him slightly giddy, he'd admit. There was something relaxing about the calm just before battle. The kind of battles he was used to usually didn't involve being in an industrial estate knowing that the people you were about to battle were going to go down easier than training dummies. But he'd take what he was given right now.

Through the cowl covering his face he scanned the slowly darkening area. The buildings around this part weren't incredibly height compared to others - possibly 4 storeys at most. Clint was hunkered down between two warehouses, with a view out to the clear pathway their target would use but also enough cover to stand flush against ht wall and not be seen. Straight across from him, across the pathway, was another row of buildings that he knew the STRIKE team they requested were hiding in or around. It felt like a city setting, all warehouses and tall supply buildings, red brick and concrete ground surrounded by chain link fences. It didn't feel quite like a battle field, but they never usually did.

They didn't know exactly when Female Two would leave the building, but they had a feeling it would be soon. It was always around the start of nightfall - just as the sun was dipping down behind the horizon and the buildings around the area would cast shadows to darken the area - that she would leave and go off somewhere for approximately half an hour. They never knew quite where. The town is farther away than that and she never came back with something so it wasn't for supplies. Always alone too, possibly meeting someone but he doubted it. Clint figured she just liked walking. Being in their own compound for so long had him craving one, he imagined she was the same.

Around the area, just like he was, the Strike team were waiting for Bucky's word to jump. Clint recognised one or two of them when they came to meet with the pair of them, but couldn't place names all that well. Better that way, he decided. The less people he was attached to the better. Most of the agents he knew in SHIELD were gone, one way or the other. He didn't need any more to attach himself to. His only ties left were the Avengers.

Well, Chicago now too he supposed. As much as he didn't want to, his ties lay there as well. Unless they didn't want him anymore and-

He shook his head clear. He was about to under go an actual mission, there was no time for distracting thoughts like that.

The team knew the plan. They hated it – their egos making it difficult to convince – but pulling rank worked and they begrudgingly agreed with a 'sir' even added at the end. Clint found himself missing newbies calling him sir as he barked ridiculous orders their way just to see how far their loyalties stretched.

Crouched down he took stock of his weapons. Just in case all of this went to hell and he actually did have to fight someone off. His Katana rested loyally on his hip – the weight it provided as he rest his hand on the hilt was as great a comfort as it always was. Slung around his shoulder was his trusted quiver – stocked with all his usual arrows, trick and regular. The compact bow that saw him through countless of battles was secured to it's side. For the first time in a long time Clint felt whole.

And while he mightn't be Hawkeye anymore, Ronin would do the job of clearing his soul just as well.

"Movement. Hold for confirmation." Barnes' voice came through his comms, Clint's hand tightened slightly on the sword hilt as he waited. "Target confirmed. Hold for go."

What if he wasn't ready for this? It had been so long since he's engaged in any kind of combat, and looking back on it maybe the last few days while planning this he should have asked Bucky for some sparring.

If he was any way out of shape, out of practice, if his arrow missed and hit somewhere vital or his sword went with just a little too much force then one of these Strike team could have his life taken by sheer stupidity.

He had to hope that they were smart enough to know to defend if it really looked like there was danger. Fury wouldn't have put them on a Strike if they weren't, Clint had to believe that.

A moment after the confirmation call came through, Clint glanced around the corner of the building he was behind and found himself in line with the woman they were looking for. She was walking away from his position - all he could see was bright red hair, a black jacket wrapped tightly around her upper half, and some green skin tight trousers covering her long legs. Still in whatever costume she had to wear while in the area, he assumed. They all always seemed to be wearing something akin to costumes, he remembers those rules in the old circus too.

Once she got approximately twenty feet away from Clint's position Bucky's voice gave the signal to jump. A heart beat passed, and then another, and Clint was starting to wonder if the Strike Team had decided to say fuck it and leave.

But he noticed the woman stop a moment after the thought crossed his mind, and he shimmied out from his cover just enough to see that facing her were three of the SHIELD agents - head to tow in swat level gear and all pointing AR's her way. The woman didn't so much as flinch, just tilted her head to the side slightly. He had to admire that kind of bravery.

He vaguely heard a command to get on her knees, and to Clint's surprise - and probably the Strike Team's surprise - the woman complied. She slowly sunk to her knees and raised her hands to place on the back of her head. The guy in the centre of the trio slowly lowered his weapon, put it on it's strap on his back, and took careful steps towards her. The other two had their weapons following her path to the ground.

The middle guy - Strike 1 Clint had mentally called him - made his way around to the back of the woman, and Clint was just about to leave his cover completely when he noticed the woman shake her head, saying something too low for the comms to pick up and transmit to his ear. A second later she kicked her right leg out straight - taking out Strike 1 with a well placed and solid looking kick to the shin. It caught him for a loop and sent him down to one knee in shock.

Before Strike 2 and 3 realised what had happened the woman jumped to her feet and charged for the pair of them. A picture perfect drop kick had a foot hitting each of their chests and sending them flying backwards with some very choice curse words spewed out. The woman had enough situational awareness to know to catch herself with her hands behind her head before she fell completely onto her back, using them to springboard back to her feet.

Just as Strike 1 stood back up she turned, making her way back the couple of feet to him on the turn of her heel. Clint didn't know if he should be afraid or turned on by this woman. A little bit of both right now.

Her surprise attack was short lived though. The strike team regained some dignity in Clint's eyes by regrouping before the woman had even managed to take a step. Strike 2 and 3 were quick to their feet and charged - grabbing the woman by an arm each, pulling them painfully behind her back and forcing her back on to her knees. She was struggling now, kicking out and cursing as Strike 1 approached her with a sack to go over her head and while 2 and 3 were tying her hands together.

Clint winched a little at the blow to her stomach Strike 1 had to deliver to keep her still, when the woman doubled over he took the chance to put a gag in her mouth and tie it off quickly. Clint decided that might be time enough for him to break his cover.

Stepping from behind the building Clint drew the Katana from it's scabbard in one smooth motion.

The sound of metal dragging was enough to get the three men to turn in his direction - Tact 1 still with the sack he was about to place over the woman's head held up. The second he was spotted tact 2 and 3 dropped the woman's arms, sending her slighting slumping forward to catch her breath, and trained their weapons his way.

M4 Carbines, standard STRIKE along with the Glock 19's on their hips. Clint knew them well from his old STRIKE days.

Tact 1 was the one who decided that instead of aiming a weapon at Clint his Glock would actually look a lot nicer pressed against the woman's head.

All of this before Clint could even take a full step closer. He could admire that speed.

When he did take a step - Katana lowered down by his hip to show no threat - the three men tensed and Clint noted their fingers find the triggers. It was getting a little darker now, the sun fully sinking behind the buildings they were surrounded by, so the three tact members were blending in nicely to the surroundings.

Under his mask Clint smirked. If he were any other target he'd have six bullets in him right now. On the other hand if he were any other target he probably wouldn't have so bravely broken cover like he just did.

He wanted this done quick, and he knew they did too. They weren't trained to play act losing. They weren't trained to lose at all actually.

"Drop the weapon, walk away, don't mention this to anyone. You have no business here." Tact 1 barked. The bandanna covering his mouth puffed out with his shouts across to Clint.

Curious about what they'd do, Clint took another step, raising the tip of his blade in their direction with his left hand behind his back for a but of balance.

Tact 1 made some kind of face if the crinkle of his eyes was anything to go by. He hated Clint, that much was made clear during the brief they had. He was probably trying to work out where he could shoot the archer without getting into trouble.

Another step from Clint and that was enough for the teams imaginary boundaries to handle. Tact 1 turned to the side just the slightest, enough to push the woman down roughly onto the concrete beneath them. Her hands being tied meant she crumbled down very easily and was struggling to find her feet.

Tact 1 started advancing Clint's way, no more than 20 yards between them. His two subordinates flanked close behind.

"Drop the weapon. We won't ask a third time."

Clint raised his chin to look down on the lead man advancing. If this wasn't a rigged fight he could safely say he would be scared. He was involved in training these guys back in their rookie days, he knew how good they were.

10 yards and closing.

Clint made eye contact with Tact 1 once again, smirking this time deliberately wide so it would each his eyes and be seen by the man. For just a moment the lead guy stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow Clint's way.

The two flanking followed suit and stopped too, now shouting commands themselves with a mixture of 'drop the weapon' and 'surrender yourself'.

Clint pointed the tip of his blade downwards and waved it in a figure of 8 before placing it ever so gently onto the concrete. Too rough and he'd damage the tip, but he wanted to hear the little 'clank' sound it made. A sign of surrender it was not, but cautiously the leader began moving forward again.

Clint adjusted his left foot to rest slightly behind his shoulder line, preparing for a charging start.

8 yard... 6 yards...

At five yards short Clint charged, the tip of his blade sliding up in front of him and his hands gripping the hilt tightly. He went for Tact 1 with a fore swing. He dodged easily, feet gracefully retreating backwards even if he was a little caught off guard. Clint followed the swing through as the man shouted orders for the other two to get back and secure the female, by the time he turned to push a back swing Tact 1's way the man had managed to raise his Glock just high enough to block the blade.

It lodged itself slightly into the weapon, so Clint pushed. The weapon went back towards it's owner, but Clint stopped just short of knocking it from his hands. They were toe to toe now, Tact 1 puffing out breaths from the strain of Clint's weight.

"Jesus Ronin," 1 breathed out, his stance shifting to keep Clint from pushing him back any further. "I know you like showboating but don't fuck up my piece, it's a nice weapon."

Clint almost laughed at his worry, noting just behind the man that tact 2 and 3 were dragging the woman to her feet.

Clint cracked his neck to the side to relieve some stress there before pushing as hard as he could with the position he was in, sending 1 back further while dislodging his sword from the gun.

With his sword behind him for just a moment Clint swung out at 1 once again - the man retreating the whole time.

Swing - swing - swing. The first two missed the mark of the retreating man, Clint meeting him step for step as he dodged though so the third one managed to slice across the front of his suit. Tact 1, just as they had promised they would if Clint landed some blows, dropped to a knee with a scream to make is seem like the worst injury he's ever received.

Standing above him now Clint took one more swing up around the top of his uniform, slicing deep enough to leave the fabric laying open, and he fell to the side hard onto the ground.

Once Clint made sure the man was staying down for the count, gun clattered off to his side somewhere, he turned his attention to the other two men.

They were standing either side of the woman, guns raised to her head with their free hands holding the rope tying her took a breath, placed the tip of his blade on the concrete in front of him once more, and surveyed the scene while the men once again barked orders his way. Both hands resting on the top of his hilt Clint's focus zeroed in on the female to see what kind of state she was in.

The second he met her eyes he had to take a moment to swallow a lump in his throat.

Zelda DuBois - Princess Python to circus goers and workers alike - was one of Clint's closest friends in all this mess when he was younger. Zelda and her pet pythons were one of the main attractions for both Carson's and the Circus of Crime when she was younger. While their paths never crossed all that frequently she was the only one in this whole industry who was ever nice to Clint. They would play during down time, she'd patch him up after rough training sessions that would result in sometimes more than just cuts and bruises, they would watch the stars at night and the fireworks as the circus closed, she'd tell him her dreams about getting away and he'd tell her all the nightmares that woke him up screaming. She would listen to him, she was kind to him, and that's as close to a friend as you could get in their line of work.

He was sure that Zelda was where the saying of red headed fury came from. You crossed her and you'd regret it. While she was never actively violent she had her ways of making people pay, and the look she held right now meant she already had ten different revenge plans plotted against the guys currently holding her hostage and somehow already had some in motion.

There wasn't an ounce of fear emanating from her, just as he'd expect really. She was watching Clint with curiosity more than anything, head slightly tilted, waiting to see what she was going to have to do next. Clint was always convinced that she broke away from this industry even before he did. His heart was breaking to see her here now.

A gun shot broke his moment of reflection. He tensed, hands gripping tightly on the sword and breath pausing as he waited. They were shooting rubber bullets so if it did hit him he'd know it wouldn't be fatal, but he more tensed because he knew the sound would draw attention in a populated are like this.

"Last chance." Tact 2 barked, his weapon pointed in the air. A warning shot.

_Idiot... Just made the fucking lot of us._

Warning shots were protocol on the third round of warnings to hostiles, but even the way that Tact 3 was looking at his team mate made it clear that the guy fucked up.

Clint sighed and reached into the back of his kimono, just under the bottom of his quiver, to pull out the throwing dagger strapped across his lower back. This kid had to learn a lesson.

In a split second, the sound of the gunshot still echoing, Clint dropped to his knee to avoid their weapons sights and pulled the knife free, sending it flying with his left hand straight into 2's shoulder while using his right to hold this katana to Tact 1's throat.

Tact 2 fell down in a heap with a yell, his team mate frozen in place with his eyes watching Clint, waiting to see if he would be next with something embedded in him.

"Get that fucker out of here before I put an arrow through his gut." Clint growled lowly, just enough for Tact 1 beneath him. The man nodded as much as the blade would allow him to without nicking skin. Clint was done now, they were made, he needed these three guys out of here and far away as possible to avoid anything further.

"Sorry sir." He muttered back, because Clint was still his superior and after that fuck up you're damn right he'd better be respectful. "Kearney! Retreat for now!"

At the command Tact 3 - Kearney - nodded and pushed the woman once more to send her to the ground. He rushed to grab the man bleeding and cursing on the ground before making a hasty retreat away from the whole situation, in the opposite direction to Clint and Tact 1 to lead out of the industrial estate.

Once they were enough of a distance away from Zelda -  _Zelda!? Why the fuck was it Zelda!?_  - Clint moved his blade from 1's throat and held it pointed down by his side.

"Send SHIELD my regards and stay away from innocent people." Clint said loud enough this time for Zelda to hear this time. That line was the whole point of this charade after all.

Tact 1 jumped to his feet with some choice curse words their way before heading off after his team. Clint watched him go past Zelda, the man sparing a glance her way as she made her way slowly to her feet before continuing onwards.

Clint stood stock still, watching as she stood with a huffed breath and turned just the slightest to watch the three men retreat.

After a beat had passed and the men were obscured by buildings in their eye line Clint let out a sigh. He turned his Katana around so the tip was pointing up towards the sky. His gloved hand ran along the length of the blade, both cleaning it of the grime of battle and thanking it for it's help today, before setting it back in the scabbard on his hip.

One more slow breath in and out to release the adrenaline and everything was calm once more, his muscles relaxed and his shoulders sagged into a more comfortable position. Even if it wasn't a real fight he still got himself into the mind set for one.

He glanced Zelda's way when he was settled, getting back to the task at hand, and found her staring his way.

The gag still in her mouth made it impossible for her to make any sound, there was a nice bruise already forming on her cheek from the scuffle. It'd be a bad one if it was visible to him even in this light. Her hands were moving slighting behind her back, trying to loosen the knots there. Even in this compromised position Clint knew better than underestimate her though. She stood her ground against a STRIKE team, and past experience let him know that she would attack if she felt it was necessary. If she felt that Clint was in any way her enemy then he'd be in some trouble.

Slowly Clint raised his hands to let her know he was no threat. Well, no threat to her anyway. He was rewarded with a raised eyebrow instead of anything else.

"If I free you, promise me you won't attack?" Clint asked slowly, putting his hands up a little further to show no weapons when her gaze strayed to them.

A look crossed her eyes then, one that made Clint smile. Almost an eye roll that would usually be followed by 'Goodness sake Clint, why am I stuck here with you?'. She nodded her promise and turned slightly to the side so he could access her hands.

Clint crossed the small space between them and made quick work of freeing her hands, dropping the rope to the ground while she released the gag in her mouth.

"Fuck that's better." She sighed once her mouth was free, voice a little raspy, he guessed a dry mouth. She turned to fully face Clint, rubbing her wrists to get some feeling back, but it had Clint moving a hand to his sword just in case.

Once facing him her mouth formed a thin line, gaze moving up and down Clint. She was scrutinising no where in general but waking everything in all the stood easily a foot over her, yet her confidence made him feel like he was three feet below her. He raised his chin to look down on her, petty he knew, but he had to stand his ground. Her wandering eyes made their way back up to look at his face and cocked her head to the side.

"Who am I thanking? Samurai Jack?"

 _Smart- ass_.

"Ronin." Clint replied, short and simple.

The fun left her eyes for a moment as her eyebrows drew together, one foot going back behind her to either brace for something or get ready to run. Clint removed his hand from his sword in response to her un-easiness.

"What the hell did I do to get a Ronin's attention?" She spat.

Clint frowned. If she knew Ronin's reputation it meant that she was back in the game a lot longer than he initially hoped.

"Not you." Clint shook his head before nodding in the general direction the STRIKE team left in. That at least relaxed her a little. She eased her stance and shrugged her shoulders.

She wasn't going to give anything away. Maybe she was about to, her hands had crossed over her chest like she was about to start some kind of conversation. Instead Clint had to ruin the chance by putting his hand back on his weapon, his free hand getting ready to grab his bow just in case he needed a long distance attack. Just behind Zelda emerged two figures - still silhouetted but they were big, men, likely drawn by that damn gun shot. Zelda's eyes went from his face to his sword to behind her in the matter of seconds.

"Hands! Now!" One shouted, just as they got close enough to be seen a little clearer.

Clint took a careful look and made the initial assessment that it thankfully wasn't local law enforcement, but both sparked something in the back of his mind and had him swallowing hard.

He knew these guys. How did he know everyone? The only way he could is if the circus had reformed completely, old members and all, and that was just a terrifying thought.

To Clint's left stood a mountain of a man. Bruto, the strongman. Big, bald, and ugly - the classic aesthetic for weight lifting performers. It wasn't him that spoke though. The last Clint remembered he spoke in broken English - some kind of European accent. Barton was too young and too un-educated as a child to tell from where and he was always to scared of the man to ask. When the Ringmaster had the audience in a trance (literally) Bruto was tasked with stealing anything valuable they may have. When Clint was old enough to tell real gold from fake crap he was the mans assistant in the task. Clint could never bring himself to do the big time crimes, the petty theft was enough for him and Bruto always seemed to have the same sentiment.

Next to him, only reaching the mans shoulders in height but no less terrifying - was Ramirez. Thomas, maybe? First names always escaped Clint's memory. His slick back hair and permanent snarl was just how Clint remembered the man. He was the fire-eater performer of the circus, but the criminal organisations insurance policy. An expert in everything explosive. He would be tasked with either 'convincing' those who left the organisation to get heir asses back or to make sure they wouldn't go spilling secrets to the authorities. Even now, after everything he's seen and done in his career, Clint held a respectful fear of the man.

Both men were in dark clothing, some button up jackets and black trousers by the looks of it, Clint was too focused on the pistols they held his way to care about fashion. Instantly Clint's hands were held up in surrender. There was no way these guys wouldn't shoot if he didn't.

Zelda, realising a lot quicker than Clint did who the men were, waved her hand in the air their way.

"Relax boys. He helped, didn't attack me."

Clint watched the men share a look, no more than a second passing, before they simultaneously lowered their weapons and focusing back on Zelda. They could have perfected a mimicking act with how in sync their movements were.

Clint allowed his hands to lower to his side as the men went up to Zelda. Once close enough Ramirez took her chin gently in his hand, moving her head from side to side to inspect the damage STRIKE had caused.

"We heard shot." Bruto spoke, deep, rumbling the air around them. "Came thinking the worst."

"It almost was." She sighed as she slapped Ramirez's hand away from her face - gently, no malice in the action. She glanced over Clint's way then, the men's gazes following. "Thankfully had a Ronin guarding me."

"Lucky." Ramirez commented, slowly. He was always an un-trusting man. Even with the people in the organisation.

Clint shrugged his shoulders, making sure to keep his eyes on Zelda. He needed her trust more than the other two.

"Love to stay and chat but I've already given them a head start." Clint said, nodding a goodbye to the two gentlemen before giving one to Zelda. "If they go to ground it could be months before I catch up again."

Clint didn't wait for any kind of response, instead turning on his heels and walking away before the sentence even fully left his mouth.

"Wait!" Zelda called when he was nearly out of ear shot. Clint turned back their way to see her jogging across the distance between them. The two men were still stood where they had been, having some kind of conversation neither seemed to be enjoying.

"Thank you." Zelda said once she had reached Clint, offering her hand. "Python, they call me."

Clint took her hand and shook it, almost laughing at the omission of 'princess' that she hated oh so much as a teen. When he let go of her hand she raised it to scratch the back of her head.

"Look, I'm sorry if I'm the reason you've lost those guys. We've been dealing with SHIELD a while now and have our own ways of knowing where they are if you need help?"

"Oh? Who's we?" Clint questioned. Zelda smiled.

"People who want SHIELD off their backs. Even if you don't trust us there's that old saying that the enemy of my enemy and all that."

Clint cracked his neck to the side, popping out the tension, before sighing. This wasn't a mission he wanted to undertake, if he was understanding Zelda right now. He needed to know details before he agreed to anything, especially if it meant accidentally spilling SHIELD secrets. Maybe Zelda sensed this, because she shrugged with a slight frown.

"I'm not saying you need our help, ok? I'm saying that... Well, we might need yours. This was brave, even for SHIELD. If I was taken then I don't know what would have happened. If you're skilled enough to send those guys running then I'd be an idiot to ignore that."

Clint stared her down as the words tumbled from her mouth. Rushed, kind of sloppy, her weight bouncing slightly from one foot to another. They had her spooked, had her scared that this was the night she was finally caught. Why would she be wanted so badly? Why would she think that they want her captured?

_Zelda, what have you done?_

"I have to talk to some people but meet me here this time tomorrow if you're interested?" She pushed, nodding her good bye and turning to walk back to the men before she even gave Clint the chance to reply a yes or no.

This is how they planned it. Attack, gain trust, get the in, get the information, get out with some criminals in custody.

Clint sighed and turned with a shake of his head, making his way back towards their bunker.

Everything went perfect. So why did he feel panic rising up within him?

* * *

"I think you're already made." Bucky hummed. Clint pouted his way.

"Why would you even say that?"

"Seems too suspicious." Barnes sighed, shaking his head before taking a sip of his beer.

As soon as Clint got back to their compound he changed out of his Ronin gear, went to the kitchen, grabbed a beer and some food, and sat to tell Bucky everything to see what their next steps were going to be. He was on his second beer now and feeling a little better. The interaction wasn't what he was expecting, definitely not what he would ever want, and it was going to take a while to get over it.

Luckily he had a shit tonne of paperwork to do, so the pair sat at the kitchen table across from one another filling out the sheets of paper that Fury would be looking for.

"I think she's just grateful." Clint shrugged. He made a face as he tried figure out the best way to word his reasoning for stabbing a STRIKE member. "In her eyes I swooped in and saved her from SHIELD custody. I don't know how they did it in your groups, but in the circus once you owe a debt you pay it as quick as possible."

"So she just thinks your some good Samaritan?" Bucky questioned carefully.

Clint wasn't entirely convinced himself really.

"She thinks I'm someone who wants SHIELD gone. They want SHIELD off their asses. She saw my skill. Why wouldn't see want that of help?"

Bucky sighed and Clint looked up in time to see him leaning back in the chair - hands going behind his head as he thought. Clint took another swig of his beer.

"Problem I have is that you were close to this woman." Bucky sighed. Clint shrugged, passing over a document for Barnes to sign before looking back at the next file he needed to fill out. "If you knew her right off the bat who's to say she didn't know you?"

"I thought that was the point of the mask?"

"It was." Barnes hummed. Clint heard the scribble of the mans pen before the slide of the file back in his direction.

"Zelda's a good one Buck." Clint eventually said through a sigh when silence hung for a while. He leaned back in his chair to look Bucky's way, the other man staring right back at Clint. "Yes she was in the circus, yes we did some questionable things back in the day, yes she is back with them. I don't for one second believe that she doesn't have a reason for it though. She never wanted to stay in this life, I mean she got out before I even did. She's not vindictive enough to actively plot fucking someone over like you think she's trying to do to me."

"A good one?" Barnes pushed, tasting the words with a raised eyebrow. Clint nodded, taking another sip of his beer.

"Are you compromised?" He asked. The beer came right back up from where it just wen't down. Clint had to cough a little to get it out of his windpipe.

"The fuck man?!" He demanded, hand thumping his chest to ease the pain and frowning Bucky's way. Barnes shrugged. "Why would you think that?"

"I don't think you know her like you think you do. How much have you changed since childhood? I'd bet anything that she's not the same either." Barnes started, head cocking to the side to watch Clint's reactions. He kept them as blanks as he could. "Are you sure you're not holding on to some idea you have of her from back then?"

"No." He said firmly, shaking his head. "I'm better than that, Buck. I know that I know nothing about her anymore. It's been twenty years since I've even thought of her. I promise you I'm not compromised, I'm not made in anyway. The plan is still the same, my mind set is still the same, it just sucks a little that I know these people."

"I had to ask." Barnes sighed, standing to bring his beer bottle to the bottle bin they had set up. Clint glanced at his side of the table to see his stack of paperwork already closed off and in a pile, Clint was barely half way through his. "As long as you can be objective in this then I have no problem with you going tomorrow. Just keep comms on in case it's a trap."

"I wasn't asking your permission y'know. It's not going to be a trap." Clint grumbled. Barnes patted his shoulder as he passed, lingering a moment to squeeze it then.

"You did good work today Barton. I just want it to stay that way. I know this was always a personal mission for you, but now it's bordering on ridiculously coincidental. I just need to know that your mind is going to stay clear."

"I promise, man. It's fine, really, I'm a professional." He shot Bucky a grin, the other man rolled his eyes.

"Professional, sure." He laughed, giving the back of Clint's head a light swat. "Professionals are constantly fucked over by women in the field, definitely."

"Better than being fucked by Steve!" Clint called as Barnes walked away towards their bedrooms, but no retort came. Usually meant Bucky thought the comment was too stupid to even warrant one.

Clint sighed one Bucky was gone and looked back at his beer bottle, his thumb picking at the label on the front to keep his mind busy.

He wondered if he could keep that promise.

The more his past was coming back to haunt him, the more unstable he felt himself and the situation becoming. Zelda, Bruto, Ramirez. Of all the fucking people. These people tried to kill him, they took his life from him, and he used to call them friends? Stupid word to have in this profession, but they were people in his childhood he always thought were just that; close friends who he could rely on.

He wasn't sure how tomorrow was going to go, but there was no way he was turning away from it now.


	8. Chapter 8

Clint thought that maybe, with so many buildings around and with it theoretically housing a lot of businesses in these warehouses, there would be more lighting in the area.

Not that he was complaining. It meant that he could lean against the wall he had been hiding behind the day previous without drawing much suspicion to himself. The all black of was his gear blended in nicely, save the gold wrapped around his waist. Any security guard passing his spot shouldn't spare a second glance his way.

But what about the lonely women walking through after pulling a late shift? Or the young guy with his head in his phone doing the same who had no chance of defending himself?

Maybe Clint was thinking too much into the city's inability to light an area. Then again, public safety and all that shit was his job as an Avenger.

He took a breath in, released it slowly, cracked his neck a little, and once again checked the watch strapped to his wrist before crossing his arms over his chest in the position they had just left.

Two hours 25 minutes past the time they were scheduled to meet. She had said to meet here at the same time as they had yesterday. Clint made sure he was in the spot ten minutes early too, just in case he missed her. Yet still there was no trace of life in the area at all.

Maybe Zelda was just one for letting time slip her by. Perhaps she forgot entirely about the meeting or was just being friendly by offering him another meeting to keep him from killing the other two men who had appeared. Or maybe, just the slightest hint of doubt making it a big maybe, he had been found out and they had hightailed it.

Clint was sure that Barnes was keeping an eye on the cameras though. There was no way now - just because there was some kind of a plan in action - that they could slack in any way. Especially now, actually. If something was out of the ordinary then Clint would now be in the thick of it and that could spell all kinds of trouble for the mission and for Clint in general.

One more sigh escaped him. Being a sniper meant that he could wait for hours on end for a mark that he knew would show up eventually, lying still and staring through a scope just waiting for some kind of glimpse. That was exciting, not knowing when the person would show and knowing that in a split second his chance could be gone. Waiting like that was no bother to him. But when he had a meeting time he hated waiting even one minute after it.

Clint rest his head back against the brick wall behind him, eyes scanning the sky above. Maybe that was the one good thing about the area having low light. Sure it messed with his vision, made unfamiliar settings like this a little trickier to maneuver, but it made every single star visible up above. When it was clear enough, like tonight, one of his favourite past times was finding a high place and watching the little stars above twinkle away.

_"If we catch a cold, we'll be killed."_

_"By the cold or by Trick?"_

_"Bit of both?"_

_Clint gave a snort of laughter, because it was kind of true. He was already nearly killed for breaking his arm – or having his arm broken but he wasn't allowed to say that. It meant he couldn't perform as well as he should, and Trickshot gave him a beating to add to the cast currently wrapped around his arm for that._

_He rolled his head to the side to spare a glance at Zelda. The pair of them were laying on the caravan roof right next to each other, almost shoulder to shoulder. Zelda had her hands behind her head as a kind of cushion, eyes scanning the night sky like they did every night it was clear enough to get a look at the stars. He used his good arm to wrap his jacket a little tighter around his small frame before looking back up at the stars himself._

_"Did you have a good day at least?" Zelda asked after some time had passed between them. Clint shrugged as best he could, but realised she wasn't looking at him so he'd have to answer._

_"Four more years and I can leave here, that's the best thing about a birthday. Lessens that time every year."_

_"Y'know a lot of states don't care if under 18's live alone?" Zelda asked, Clint nodded because he did know. He made sure to check every single state they went to for that law in case he wanted to escape. "So you don't have to wait."_

_"Barney says I do." Clint sighed. They had spoken about it a lot lately, though he was sure that Barney was bringing it up more and more because he planned on running away from them all soon and was making sure that Clint stayed where he was taken care of._

_That place definitely wasn't the circus though. The pain in his arm reminded him of that heavily._

_"Today was a pain. Wasn't your fault that Sword was drunk and heavy handed and…" a pause. Clint was sure she was making that face that looked like she was going to throw up. She very nearly did earlier when it all happened. "We could just run now and never look back." Zelda pushed after a few seconds passed._

_Clint snorted and shook his head, looking her way again to see her eyeing him. She looked confused, Clint gave her a smile._

_"Where would we go? Two fourteen year olds with no money, no family, no nothin'? What would we do?"_

_Zelda pursed her lips in thought as she looked back up to the sky above. Clint followed suit, though a cloud had blocked off his favourite bit of sky so he waited for it to pass. One of the animals let out a roar in the housing next to their caravan, under him he could hear Barney shout out at it to shut up and go to sleep._

_"We could get jobs." Zelda said softly. Clint smiled at the sound of her optimism, and then decided to play along._

_"Suit, ties, and briefcases style? Like the guy who stood in the horse shit yesterday and screamed that his shoes cost more than we did?"_

_"Maybe?" Zelda shrugged, Clint shook his head._

_"I don't think I'd like to be someone like that." Clint sighed. "They all seem so mean, won't buy their kids cotton candy but can spend that much on a pair of shoes?"_

_"I like mine more than his anyway." Zelda hummed, lifting her head to look at her feet. Clint did the same, though his shoes were old black boots with a hole in the sole while hers were actually nice clean white trainers of some kind. She always got the good stuff._

_"Well what would ya do if you don't want business man shoes?"_

_She put her head back down on her hands and hummed. Clint didn't know anything other than this business, well that and being a professional drunk but he had a feeling that it wasn't actually a job and more an insult Barney made up for their old man. He wasn't sure if he even knew any other job titles._

_"A teacher." Zelda eventually said. Clint smiled, he could imagine that alright. Patience, kindness, a little stubbornness. That's how he remembered the one teacher he had in life, and he was sure that was Zelda to a T. "They know everything, they're respected, and they get to scream at people for messing up or being assholes in class. I'd like that."_

_"Well you are a know-it-all and you do scream, so…" Clint muttered, loud enough for Zelda to hear and he laughed when she slapped his arm. Lightly though, she was kind enough not to hit him properly when already injured._

_"What about you, then? Stuntman?" There was a hint of a laugh in her voice when she asked. Clint pouted up at the stars and shrugged._

_Silence hung in the air. Zelda didn't push an answer, maybe she could sense his weariness on the subject. He knew how to steal but he hated it. He knew how to scam people, was good at cheating people at darts to make a mint when he had to pull his weight. He hated doing all of those things, though. He hated being a villain..._

_"I think I'd make good superhero." He whispered after the silence stretched. Zelda let the confession rest between them, didn't comment but didn't scold either._

_A heartbeat later Clint noticed in his peripheral a nod of her head._

A slight sound to his right, scraping. Some kind of pebble or loose chipping against the cement ground. It broke Clint from his restful daydreams. He pushed himself away from the wall and turned to face the sound, seeing Zelda round the corner of one of the buildings and slowly make her way in his direction.

He cocked his head slightly to the side. She didn't look to be in any hurry, careful strides with a slight smile on her face, as if she wasn't running 2 hours late.

"Was about t'up and leave." Clint called when he figured she was in ear shot. Not annoyed, not amused, just enough of 'couldn't care less' in his voice as he spoke. "You're not one for time keeping, huh?"

"Apologies." She simply shrugged when close enough. She didn't advance any further, just nodded in the direction in which she came. Clint took the hint and crossed the space to fall in step next to her to walk back towards the warehouse. "I had an unexpected meeting."

"Meeting?" Clint hummed. His weapons clinked as they walked, so he put his hand on the hilt of his sword to try quieten it a little. "I'm guessing about the masked up stranger you want to bring into whatever group you have?"

"Bingo." She sighed. She glanced his way a moment, his peripheral catching her eyeing him up and down, but he kept his sight straight ahead as they walked. "The boss isn't too pleased but we think we convinced him."

"What is it you're trying to convince?" Clint pushed. They rounded the corner of a building, leading to a straight road with the Circus' warehouse at the end of the pathway.

"Honestly?" She asked, Clint nodded, wanting her to definitely be honest. He needed to know what he was getting himself into. "He thinks you're working with SHIELD. Almost had us believing it too, said no one can take a team like that. Trying to convince him that's why we need you."

Under his mask Clint smirked, raising his chin just the slightest in amusement.

"If that's how he thinks I treat people I work with then maybe I shouldn't work with him." Clint sighed, shrugging at the end.

"That's kind of the point I made." Zelda laughed a little. It made Clint smile. "I vouched for you. I could see you were going easy, that stiffness you held was holding something back, so I'm sure there's a lot more you could do."

"I think you're over selling me here."

"Really? If I am, and they're the best you can take out, then I think those clothes should go somewhere else." It was a tease, he could tell by her sing-song tone. Didn't mean the comment didn't sting.

Zelda stopped suddenly, Clint doing the same just a step behind her. For the first time he came face to face with the building he'd been staring at through grainy video footage for the past few months.

Up close and personal the building was a lot bigger than the screens made it out to be. Positioned at the very back of the industrial state, the large brown brick warehouse stood four floors high - who knew right now how many deep. A chain linked barbed wire topped fence surrounded the whole structure - letting people know without having to state it explicitly that trespassing is a major no-no. The windows were blacked out. Just as Clint expected them to be from what he could see on their camera feeds - cardboard of some kind covering each and every one. As a way of making sure the place looked abandoned or as a way from keeping interested parties from looking in Clint wasn't too sure.

"He did come around." Zelda started, turning her head slightly to look his way. "But some others here might be a little trickier to persuade."

"The two last night came around easy enough." Clint reminded her. She shrugged, the slightest of smiles tugging on her lips.

"They're old friends. They'll go along with anythin' I push for."

"Sounds like the best way to get yourself into trouble." Clint hummed.

"A Ronin worried about trouble?" Zelda started as she turned and started walking towards the door once more. Clint fell in step behind. "Never thought I'd see the day."

He couldn't stop the smirk that grew. Seemed his reputation in this suit was still widely known.

"More like I'm looking forward to it."

He couldn't hear it but the slight shaking of Zelda's shoulders as she pushed open the warehouse door was enough to give away her chuckle. She stood to the side, waiting for him to enter first.

This was the moment Clint's mission mind clicked into gear, causing his hand to tighten its hold on the handle of the Katana on his side. If this was a trap of some kind, then this would be the moment it would be sprung.

He glanced from the door to Zelda, who raised her eyebrows in a 'the fuck you waiting for?' kind of way.

_Leave them waiting to tire them out, make friends on the way to the meeting point, make it seem like you vouched for them. Gain trust, even the slightest, then attack._

If that was the case then Clint could admire that plan. Simple, but effective.

Five seconds turned into ten, and when Barton realised that no attack was coming on this side of the doorway he let out a slight sigh. Carefully he stepped towards the warehouse, ignoring the look Zelda gave him as he passed her.

He took the moment she took closing and locking the door to do a quick survey of the area. Seemed to be a standard 200 by 200 foot warehouse. Open floor plan, no one moving around at this hour of night, but the place was packed with small wooden crates. They were piled up high, stopping a little more than a foot from the fluorescent lights above and filling the room from the main door to a door at the opposite end with 'PRIVATE' written in black lettering.

Without a word Zelda began walking down the centre of that stacks of boxes, towards the door at the end of the space. Clint's eyes wandered over each isle of crates as they passed them. None seemed to have any indication of what was inside, just generic markings of 'This way up' and 'Fragile, handle with care'.

The circus, as far as he remembered, was small time crime. The feeling he was getting from this area alone told him something worse was going on. He frowned at the back of Zleda's head.

_What have you gotten yourself into, Zel?_

For the minute - less - it took them to cover the space they didn't speak, the only contact being when they reached the Private door and Zelda smiled his way to follow her in.

The second it was open some soft music began spilling out. The sound of chattering that was happening for that moment stopped when Zelda stepping in and greeted the room as a whole.

Clint stayed a foot away, weighing up his options. He could still see the back of Zelda - her frame blocking anything else of the room. He had no idea of numbers or layout or -

Zelda must have sensed it, or was just sick of his indecision, because she turned his way with an amused smile, nodding towards the room once more.

"We don't bite, y'know?" She teased. Clints eyes rolled behind his mask.

_Yeah right… Have at least six scars saying otherwise..._

Regardless, he nodded and followed her into the room. The door made a soft click as it closed behind him. He felt trapped, had to keep reminding himself that they had no reason to attack.

It was - for lack of a better word - a break room. It was narrow, but held a length to it that meant the four people inside fit comfortably, as did the two of them when they walked in.

Along the wall opposite to the door were two long couches placed right butt beside one another. Three people could sit on each, four if they didn't mind personal space.

Zelda crossed the small gap to squeeze between the two men that had come for them yesterday, both easily moved away from the centre space as if expecting her to do that. They had their gaze jumping between her and Clint, but he expected that.

To his right, along the wall, there was a counter-top with an array of trash on it from the long day that obviously no one bothered to clean up. A sink, microwave, coffee maker, and oven called that area their home along with a mini fridge under it that hummed along below the music in the space.

To his left was a round table - four chairs - where the radio sat in the centre along with the one of the remaining occupants of the room. The last, a face he had seen in his dreams many nights before this, sat on the spare sofa opposite Clint.

In the split second it took him to analyse the space he was sure that all the gazing eyes locked on him surely analysed him the same way.

Break room wasn't the right word for it.

_A kitchen. These guys live here?_

It would make sense, really. It's not often he'd notice them leave for anywhere long enough to consider it going home for the night.

"Guys, meet Ronin." Zelda started, an arm flung out Clint's way as if she were presenting some grand act. "Ronin, meet the guys."

"Guys have names?" Clint asked after a stretch of silence. They weren't the talkative kind, he guessed. More interested in staring him down.

_Still sizing you up…_

He removed his hand from his blade and folded his arms across his chest to show no threat. Almost instantly with that action the body language in all of them relaxed.

"Ramirez." Fire-eater, on the far right of the sofa, offered first almost as soon as Clint's arms were crossed. He pointed a finger to his chest as he spoke before pointing one past Zelda to the man at the opposite end of the sofa. "Bruto. We met last night. Count us as security here."

"Scared little chicken shits pretending to be something more like." Zelda muttered with a smirk, one settled on Clint's face just as easily as it did hers.

She flinched when the large lady at the end of the second sofa tutted, her southern drawl flowing easily across the space.

"Zel, be nice." She scolded, Clint's heart clenched. The lady's eyes went from scolding Zelda to smiling at Clint as soon as Zelda mumbled an apology. "Teena, lovely to meet you."

Mary, Clint knew her as. Mary Stenson, "Teena" the fat lady. She'd sing at the end of every show in the old metaphor of a show ain't over 'til the fat lady sings. Her voice would be hypnotic - literally - and would have people parting with items almost willingly. Clint had thought that she had gone off long ago to start a family. She had always spoke about it, always treated himself and Zelda as her own, was always the one to make sure Clint was patched up after a rough day/night under one of his handlers care.

"Anythin' you need stitched or taken care off, I'm your gal." Teena smiled bright and beautiful as always. He knew the meaning under it, that she didn't mean if he ripped his suit.

Silence stretched again, and the other fours eyes drifted to the last male in the corner. He was sitting with his feet up on another one of the table chairs, hands turning cards over lazily from a deck he held as he played a game of solitaire. Wearing all black, tight shirt and cargo pants, he would almost blend into the corner if there wasn't a light over his head shining off his baldness. Clint squinted a little, he knew the face. He tilted his head to the side just the slightest to see if he could spot the trademark bulge on the mans back.

"That ever-so-friendly gentleman is Nighthawk." Zelda finally sighed, Nighthawk waving a lazy hand Clints way but not really taking his eyes off his game. "Gonna be best friends with the chatty fucker I bet."

Clint clenched his jaw a little at the comment, eyes not leaving the man in the corner.

He was a little more at ease knowing that this seemed to be the main bones of the group that had been sent to kill him. He knew them well, knew they were good people at heart. Well, all but one.

Nighthawk. Joseph Manfredi. He was in every single SHIELD agents bingo books as high priority - dead or alive. Clint had no idea what he was doing in a circus, last he heard or what he always knew was that he was a high member of Hydra. They had worked on a version of Wilson's Falcon wing suit after getting some blue prints from a government source. There were rumours around SHIELD, that Fury never confirmed or denied, that their version was hardwired into the person's back instead of removable like Wilson's. The idea had come from the work done with Barnes' arm - because if they could attach an arm and get it to be lifelike then surely that should extend to wings.

The bulge on the mans back seemed to solidify that rumour. Clint could think of no other reason as to why he would have them on right now.

"You can take a seat, darlin'." Teena said, patting the space on the couch next to her.

Clint's instinct wanted him as close as possible to the shut door though. 'Quick escape' ; maybe. 'Not wanting to fully let down his guard yet with a highly skilled Hydra agent so close.' ; definitely.

He politely declined her offer with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I stood waiting to two hours, what's a little more?"

Teena's laugh was soft and warm, hitting Clint right in the heart and giving him a smile. Probably the thing he loved most about the Ronin gear - sometimes restricted him in ways his Hawkeye gear would never do, but he was free to wear every single emotion on his face because the cowl hides it all.

"So what's the deal?" Clint said finally, attention snapping his way once again. If he wanted answers he'd have to push for them. "What are you all doing here?"

Silence hung a moment. Everyone started looking at one another for an answer, in silent conversation about what to do. Except Nighthawk. It concerned Clint that the man seemed to happily stay away from the group as a whole.

All eyes then landed on Zelda, so Clint followed the heard and raised a chin her way. A heartbeat was spent with her looking him up and down before a sigh finally escaped her lips, accepting whatever internal battle was going on as a loss.

"We're old friends. Met back up to try make our way in the world again." She shrugged at the end like it was an acceptable answer. Clint didn't consider it any kind of answer at all.

"And how does one 'make their way' around these parts?" Clint pushed when nothing more was coming willingly.

Zelda's mouth opened to say something, but snapped shut when the soft thump of cards hitting the table sounded. Everyone looked Nighthawks way, except Clint who stayed looking at Zelda to find any hint of what the hell she thought of this guy.

"Ask a lot of questions for a newcomer." Nighthawk said, voice deep and raspy. Lack of use rasp Clint guessed. Not the thing to be thinking of, but meant that the man was more a do-er. "We're here. All you need to know."

Clint smirked at the reasoning, turning then to look at Nighthawk full on. That was a politician answer, a spy answer. There was something deep here and he didn't want Clint even thinking of finding out.

"Like t'know what I'm getting into." Clint said, hands dropping from across his chest so he could hover one just over his blade. Nighthawk smirked at the action, neck cracking just the slightest as he leaned back to study Clint.

_Too at ease, too relaxed, that's gonna be your downfall…_

"I know exactly what kind of fun you Ronin type like getting into. Won't find any of that here."

'Fun' was dripping with something. Not sarcasm, not even a suggestive tone. Clint's ears, though rusty, could swear the idea of what Ronin were known for almost excited this guy.

"Then what were those SHIELD agents yesterday?"

"They walked away." Nighthawk growled, going back to his game of cards as a way of ending their conversation. "Weren't worth a piss bucket."

"Still a threat." Clint shrugged, turning his attention back to the people on the sofa. They were too silent during that interaction. Nighthawk had something on them. "Look, whatever you guys want from me will have to come after I know what I'm doing. You have SHIELD breathing down your neck, fine I can handle that. But if it's something more…"

Silence once again.

These guys invited him here for whatever protection he could offer. Surely they didn't expect him to just say yes sir and not want to know why?

Clint closed his hand around the handle of his katana, tight enough to make sure it clinked just the slightest. He raised his chin to challenge them to make the next move.

"We're not some terrorist level shit if that's what you're thinking." Ramirez was the one to finally speak up, resting back against the cushions of the sofa as he spoke.

A weight lifted off the room once he broke the silence. They were glad someone finally defended themselves, or just stood up to Clint being a nosey bastard.

"We are small time." Bruto continued. Careful with the words, looking at Tenna for a nod to make sure he got the saying right. "Drugs, guns, bank job to make money. Nothing violent, nothing over the radar, nothing major."

"Just feed the major guys their means." Clint finished for them. Maybe a slight tone of judgement.

Silence hung, so ok maybe a lot of tone of judgement. Ramirez's eyes narrowed his way, not approving the suggestion that they were anything like those guys.

But right now, they were in Clint's eyes.

"If we don't someone else will." Zelda spoke to diffuse the tension. She rose with a sigh, going over to the counter top to pour herself some coffee from a machine sitting there.

A quick tempo swing song came on the radio, filling the room. Clint recognised it from Steve's training playlist, he had taken many bumps on the mat and said many 'Ok, one more time' s to the soft melody. He had to shake his head clear of the feeling of a shield taking him off his feet. He had a job to focus on, fuck friends right now.

"SHIELD don't concern themselves with barely FBI level crime." Clint pushed. Zelda paused in stirring sugar into her coffee ( _"Three spoons, Clint! No, that's two, I can taste the difference!"_ ). "So, I ask again. What the fuck am I defending you guys for? What level are they sending? How frequently? How much did you guys fuck up?"

He knew, of course he knew, and it was starting to frustrate him waiting to hear. They took out an Avenger, they killed him as far as the world was concerned. After finding a mercenary Ronin's level it should be the first thing you brag about.

Zelda crossed the space once more without a word, coffee mug gripped in one hand. She didn't go to her original space though, instead went to sit next to Teena who pulled her close without hesitation.

"We took out one of their own." Nighthawk finally answered. His tone was sharp, annoyed, sick of tiptoeing around the subject was Clint's best guess.

Clint's eyes stayed locked on Zelda, her gaze down on her coffee mug while Teena rubbed her arm soothingly.

_She did know… She knew they killed you…_

"They don't take too kindly to that…" Clint replied with a nod. He crossed his arms over his chest once more. The others had their gazes downward, at least he could take solace in the fact that they all knew but they all felt guilt. He turned his attention to the only one not giving a shit in the corner. "Intentional?"

"Boss put the hit out. Really wanted him gone." Hawk nodded, clearing up his cards from the table to shuffle the deck once more. Clint wasn't sure if he had even finished a game yet. "Told him if would leave us up shit creek."

"Having him around would have too." Ramirez cut in. Clints jaw clenched.

"He would have had us all behind bars months ago." Bruto agreed with a nod.

"So  _he_  says anyway. The fuck does he know." Zelda finally grumbled. Teena tutted at her remark, giving her another squeeze.

_He says… He won't give up once he finds out it failed..._

"Come on, Zel. We all agreed." Ramirez sighed.  _They all agreed…_  "Boss would have done it with or without us."

Clint swallowed thickly. He had clung to the slightest hope that none of them knew. He hoped that it was all just them being caught up in whatever war he had with Jacques. Clint had to get out of this suit, it was getting way too hot. The flames were creeping around him, his ears ringing from the explosion. He was going to die if he didn't get away from here, the smoke was making it impossible to breath.

_No… You're fine._

He shook his head clear once more, taking a deep breath and disguising it as best he could as a sigh. Maybe Barnes was right, maybe he wasn't ready to hear all of this from people he was once convinced were his best friends - his family.

"Will this boss be joining us?" Clint asked, a little to quickly perhaps. He had to force the words out around the lump in his throat though.

"Probably not for another few days." Teena answered, shooting Clint the smallest of smiles. "Usually checks in once a week."

"If you need anything Zelda's in charge, er-" Ramirez cut himself off with a smack shut of his lips, looking to Nighthawk in the corner then. "Usually."

"Usually?" Clints head cocked to the side a little, following Ramirez's gaze to the man in the corner.

"He left me here." Hawk piped up. He didn't sound too pleased about it. "SHIELD agents around here spooked him. Wants me here to help you with security."

"I don't work with others." Clint sighed, waving his hand to dismiss the notion. Though the other man's tone seemed to make Clint think that he wouldn't care about this place being hit anyway.

"Wasn't a request. I'm holding down the fort, you're helping. Not the other way around."

"I was told you have intel on SHIELD. That's the only reason I'm around, not to play second string to someone like you."

"That's between you and the girl, nothing to do with me."

"Then maybe keeping your sorry ass out of SHIELD custody has nothing to do with me."

"Oh?" Hawk barked out a laugh, the chair he was sitting on scraping along the floor as he shoved it back to stand up. He stepped around the table and took slow steps towards Clint. "What do you take me for, kid? You don't think I can do that myself with my eyes closed?"

"I know you can't." Clint coutered low, hands falling from his chest to grip his blade once more. Hawk's gaze shifted to his hand and a dangerous smirk formed on the mans face.

"Try it, ninja-wannabe." Hawk murmured, the gap between them barely existent now. "You're nothing but a hired gun. Someone around for SHIELD agents to kill instead of us. I've taken out better than you on my worst day."

"Really?" Clint snorted, taking the final step so their boots were touching. "Here I thought all Hydra scum did was hide with their tails between their legs."

Hawk's eyes narrowed, fists clenched at his side. Smart remarks were over, Clint hit a nerve and had to steel himself for the inevitable blow to the jaw he was about to receive.

Instead a pair of delicate hands snaked their way between the two men and shoved them back from each other. Clint lost his footing just the slightest, stumbling back just as Hawk had done. He drew the sword just a click out of its housing but stopped himself when he saw it was Zelda who shoved them.

"Ok the dick measuring is over." Zelda sighed, giving her best 'Act your age, not your shoe size' look to the both of them. Hawk took a breath in - Clint raised his chin to dare him to try something.

Instead the breath was released and he turned his back on Clint to go back to his cards. He slid into the seat as if nothing had happened, no one else seemed to even care either. A regular occurrence with someone as short fused as Nighthawk is what Clint guessed.

For the circus in general, now that Clint thought about it, interactions like that were an hourly thing.

"Outside." Zelda said to him in a harsh whisper, giving him a slight shove towards the door. Clint frowned and put his hands up to protest, but let himself be pushed outside regardless.

"I'm not apologising." Clint said once the door was shut behind them. Zelda sighed loudly, annoyed.

She turned to face him and folded her arms across her chest. He mirrored her stance, chin raising to try be a little more threatening than he felt. He knew she could and would kick his ass if she was annoyed enough.

"I'm not asking you to. He needs to calm down and accept all of this and you being an ass isn't helping."

"I came here for answers, not to play security under a Hydra agent." Clint sighed. Zelda shrugged.

"Do one and the other will come."

"The hell does that mean?"

"Look, I'm not here to hold your hand. You want SHIELD so bad then stick around and they'll show their head sooner or later. But you get nothing for free in this life. Everyone works for everything around here so either play security or just leave."

"I'd rather it sooner." Clint sighed, his way of letting her know he understood and accepted the ultimatum. As if he wasn't going to stick around anyway, he had some information to gather.

He turned to leave before she had a chance to reply, walking towards the entrance to the building without looking back. Zelda was quick to follow though.

"We made up a bed in the hired gun quarters." She said as they walked, like it was expected he would be staying here.

"I have a place close to some targets I'm watching. Need to be there."

"And if we need you?" She asked, quickening her pace the slightest so she could go in front of him to open the door. And keep him there until he answered that, he guessed.

"I'll be back in a few hours. But I'll know of any movement around here, you can count on that."

Zelda pursed her lips together, eyeing Clint up and down, trying to determine any lie in that. Probably the most truthful thing he's said here all night. She nodded, though, and he nodded back before stepping around her and out of the warehouse.

"Knock four times." Zelda called when he was a few feet away. "One of us will open for you. Goodnight."

Clint waiting until he heard the door behind him shut. With a sigh and a shake of his head he started on his way back towards his compound.

This too long mission of his just got a lot longer. He needed a drink.

* * *

There was some kind of creature in the walls. Maybe the roof actually, since they were underground did they even have proper walls for things to live in? Either way, Clint was sure there was something up there.

Lying on his bed back at the compound, staring up at the ceiling above him, he couldn't help but imagine what he'd actually do if some kind of rat or rodent just fell onto him. He could handle thirty of the world's toughest mercenaries all in one go without batting an eyelid. Rats though? Unpredictable little bastards.

Another tick and scratch sound, Clint's eyes narrowed in response and the spot above his head.

There was this scene in some movie - Fast and Furious? Clint remembers cars and beautiful people so maybe - where the bad guy used a bucket to trap a rat on some guys stomach. The rat freaked out and started trying to chew it's way through the man.

Another tick. Clint frowned. He'd take any torture over that.

"It's the pipes." Clint lifted his head from his pillow to look at the doorway, Bucky stood leaning against the frame with his arms folded across his chest. He was in his running gear. The lucky bastard got out for a while. "They're old. Your shower has water trying to get through all the grime."

"Well that's disgusting." Clint gave a little laugh before dropping his head once again. He ran his hand over his bare torso, sure enough he still felt clean regardless of knowing there was grime and shit in the pipes.

His hand stalled on his scars, a small frown crossing his face once more.

_Put a shirt on… They're probably horrible to look at… Barnes has some though. You might be good._

He felt the weight shift at the end of the bed but didn't bother raising his head to look at this time.

"You left so quickly after the report that we didn't get a chance to talk." Clint tried not grin at Bucky's words. His tone bled classic psychiatrist, like it was a sentence he learned off to help someone through a tough time.

"Didn't take you for a talker, Barnes."

"Well I am when someone I'm working with looks as spooked as you did."

"M'not spooked." Clint grumbled. He moved his hands behind his head to relax hoping Bucky would buy it as a sign that he's fine and leave.

No such luck though.

"Doesn't matter how close you used to be, Clint. People change."

"Change to the point of happily killing an old friend?"

"I did."

Clint frowned and look at Barnes, said man looking back with both eyebrows raised. Little shit…

"You were brainwashed." Clint sighed, dismissing whatever was about to happen before it had a chance to start. "Totally different."

"Brainwashed doesn't just mean what you and I went through." Bucky continued. Clint put his head back down and shook it quickly. "You know that someone like Jacques constantly spouting that you're a danger is just as bad as machines and magic sceptres."

Clint hummed in response, some kind of sound of agreement. Really that wasn't what had him bothered. People in this day and age, in their line of work, have to do anything to survive. No one's a friend in that case. What hurt him was that he got a confession so easily, that he could no longer live in some deluded reality where none of them knew they had killed him, because he still had a mission to continue with people who had ruined his whole life.

_'We know they did it'_ , Fury had said when he brought the information of the day back to him.  _'That's not what I need. I need top brass and their files. I need to find the mole in SHIELD. I don't need you fucking it up because your feelings got hurt.'_

Clint will never admit that those words kind of stung.

"So what are you going to do?"

"You heard Fury." Clint sighed, eyes slipping closed. "It's not about finding out who killed me anymore. I don't think it ever was. So I'm going in for intel, for plan, for Jacques and-" he paused, really not wanting to finish that thought.

Barnes waited a breath, seeing if would acknowledge fully what he had to do. He sighed when Clint remained tight-lipped.

"If she knows anything, if she's second in command like you said, then she's just as guilty."

"If it comes down to it I'm taking Zelda in." Clint finally said, a whisper, because she wasn't a criminal. She couldn't be. "As much as SHIELD hate me recently an attack on me is an attack on them. I know what they'd do to her for that."

"Ok. You get the job done and I promise you're the only one touching her." Clint smiled slightly and nodded, grateful Barnes understood. The weight shifted - Bucky had stood from the bed. "Get some sleep. First day of school tomorrow."

Clint reached out his right hand with a laugh, grabbing the water bottle from the nightstand and throwing it Bucky's way. It hit wood, making a solid thump as it hit the door Bucky had already shut.

_Find the intel, build a case, bring the organisation down. Old school spy stuff._

Clint could do that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive, I swear


End file.
